Antwon's Fangs
by Lancer47
Summary: Summary: Farmington is infested with Antwon Mitchell, Vic Mackey, vampires, and a handful of demons. Which one is the bigger monster? BtVS crossover with The Shield.
1. Chapter 1

_The Shield _and_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

in a crossover FanFiction

**Antwon's Fangs**

by

Lancer47

AKA LancerFourSeven

& AKA STFarnham

_Disclaimer: I borrowed the characters from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and _The Shield _without permission solely for non-commercial use. They will be returned unharmed, although some (especially those from _The Shield_) may need counseling before getting back to their usual work._

_Rating: FR18 for language and violence._

_Summary: Farmington is infested with Antwon Mitchell, Vic Mackey, vampires, and a handful of demons. Which one is the bigger monster?_

_Notes:_

_This takes place in the fourth season of _The Shield_, which would be several years after the collapse of Sunnydale. I have tried to keep this story linked in order with the episodes in the Shield, but a few scenes will get switched around to keep this story clear. The end of this story will be AU for The Shield. _

_The Cast of Characters for both _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ & _The Shield_ is at the end of this chapter. _

_I've tried to follow the language patterns of the characters on the Shield, but since the closest your author has been to the 'hood is riding by on a fast train, my idea of ghetto slang is not going to be accurate; besides, slang changes at such a rapid pace that it's impossible to stay current. So I've tried to hint at ghetto slang with a few words and phrases mostly borrowed from the show. If anything seems wildly inaccurate, just assume it was normal a few years ago and has just gone out of style._

_The characters of Peas and 8-Ball are an homage to the assassin pair, Chris and Snoop, from _The Wire_, although this is not a crossover with that show. _

_If anyone reading this has not seen _The Shield_, here's a few things you'll need to follow along. The show was inspired by the Rampart police scandal in Los Angeles in the late '90s in which an anti-gang task force ended with seventy officers implicated in a variety of crimes. In the show, Detective Vic Mackey leads a four-man strike team, including Shane Vendrell, Curtis Lemansky, and Ron Gardarki. The Strike Team uses corrupt methods to control crime, including stealing from drug dealers, torture and murder, whatever he has to do to put bad guys in prison. Vic sees himself as a good guy, even though he definitely is not. The team broke apart in the previous season, although they do get through their differences and get back together. Vic will do whatever he has to do to to get what he wants, Shane thinks he's smarter than he is, Lemansky is disturbed by their unethical conduct, and Ronnie is solid and loyal to a fault._

* * *

**Chapter One**

Antwon Mitchell sat back in a stained and ripped Barca-Lounger, his ham-sized fist clutching a cold beer. He looked up, his cold dark eyes taking in one of his distributors. "So Jules baby, I can see yer shakin' in yer boots. Thas gotta be bad news – so toss me a dime."

Jules tried to straighten up, but he was frankly terrified. "We got jacked, boss. Three days worth of cash – gone."

"All of it?"

"All gone."

"And the product?"

"She didn't want product, just money. She said this was last months payment, she'd be back next week for this month's, and every month after. She claimed it was our price for doin' business in the hood."

Antwon shot to his feet. "NOBODY FUCKS WITH ME!" he shouted. Calming down, but appearing even more dangerous when quiet, he stalked back and forth and asked quietly, "Who the fuck is this crew with enough balls to shake down Antwon Mitchell?"

"As far as I can tell, it jus' one girl, a fly white chick. She punched out Jims and Candy both – using just her left hand cuz she had a big fuckin' sword in her right – and demanded I pack up the cash in her gym bag. That sword was _sharp_, Antwon, I wasn't gonna argue wit' that, not with the fuckin' muscle already down for the count."

Antwon calmed down. "Okay, for _now_." Jules let out an audible sigh of relief. Antwon angrily threw his beer can at the wall. "I been dissed out by a bitch, she too dim to live! Get Peas and 8-Ball here! Jules, get the fuck outta here before I fuckin' shoot you! You best be thinkin' up ways to make up that money."

"You know I'm yer dawg, Antwon, fo sure that bitch ain't gettin' no mo' benjamins from me!"

* * *

Peas and 8-Ball, driving a black Cadillac Escalade, navigated cautiously down a rough and rutted little track in the shadow of the Interstate Highway, not far from a confluence of several huge concrete storm ditches. It was steep and narrow, requiring four wheel drive and low range. At the bottom was just enough room to make the turn into an abandoned warehouse on one side or to an open field covered in old trash on the other. 8-Ball drove, his seat adjusted all the way down so his ridiculous looking hat didn't brush the roof liner. There was no one alive stupid enough to make fun of his hat, at least not to his face.

Peas said in her soft raspy voice, "Take a turn over that way, with the headlights on."

8-Ball said nothing, as usual, but he flipped on the lights and turned as asked. Peas said, "Aww, it wuz nuthin', musta been a shadow." They drove around several columns close by a couple of large rectangular holes in the concrete floor on the way to the back of the huge expanse. Part of the roof was missing, shafts of sunlight lit the area intermittently, and some of the holes had weedy looking plants just barely surviving but looking right at home in this depressing space. The Escalade pulled up and stopped by a hole in the back. One single shaft of light barely lit the area. Peas and 8-Ball got out, leaving the doors open but with the engine off, strolled around to the back.

Peas opened the rear door and gestured towards her partner. The two leaned and grabbed a rolled up carpet and yanked it onto the concrete. The allowed it to unroll and 8-Ball grabbed the man who had been trapped inside by the collar and stood him up. He was shaky, his hands taped together behind his back, his ankles taped also with silver duct tape. He begged, "8-Ball, please, I swear I won't do it again! I'll make it up! Really, I can get half by tomorrow! The rest by the end of the week! Antwon'll get some fine interest too!"

"It's no good Bodie," said Peas, "you fucked Antwon – you shoulda jes pulled the trigger on yer ownself an' save us the trouble. He don't care anymore if you pay him back or not, he care you fucked him over in the first place. An thas why you gots ta pay the price."

The victim shivered with fear, tears leaking down his face.

"But hey, don't worry Bodie," said 8-Ball, "I'll take care of you, after all, we nearly neighbors." Bodie looked up with sudden hope in his eyes. 8-Ball continued, "I'll make it quick, you won't feel a thing." He shoved Bodie into the pit, next to a dried flow of lumpy concrete. Both 8-Ball and Peas ignored the look of horror and the shouting. 8-Ball pulled out a model 1911 .45 Navy Colt, aimed and shot. Bodie's spinal cord was severed just below his skull, he was dead instantly. "I keep my promises," 8-Ball said quietly.

Peas looked a the Colt and raised her eyebrows. "Not a nine?"

"Nah, this is Bodie's gun. Fittin'." He tossed it into the pit, next to the victim.

Peas and 8-Ball were utterly unconcerned about the bleeding corpse as they set about dumping sand and cement into a huge concrete mixer sitting nearby. Peas yanked the starter, the gas engine started up, and the barrel began turning, churning the ingredients into concrete. When it was ready they guided the machine into position and shoved the lever to the pour position. When the concrete ran out Peas ran water through the hopper, aimed away from their fresh lumpy pour covering the new grave.

Peas said, "One more, then this'un'll be filled. Then a fresh pour on top, smooth it out, and no one will find 'em."

8-Ball nodded agreement. They both went about their business in a workmanlike manner, cleaning tools, rolling up the hoses, vacuuming the 'Lac, in general putting everything back in order. They took off their coveralls, dumped them into the open part of the pit, got in the vehicle and drove out, just barely making the turn onto the track without scraping the doors, the Escalade working hard on the climb back up to the street. Peas turned on her phone and checked her messages.

"Let's go see Antwon."

8-Ball nodded.

About an hour later the tall man and the short woman walked into Antwon's warehouse. Without having to say anything, the message '_don't fuck with me or I'll kill you_' clearly got out. Except for Antwon himself and two guys back in the deep shadows, everyone else in the crew politely stepped out of their way.

"Hey Antwon," the girl with a gentle smile said softly, " 'sup?"

Antwon smiled for the first time since his interview with Jules. "Hey Peas. You know where Jules' crib is?"

"Yeah," came the soft reply.

"He got himself jacked by some bitch who plans on comin' back and jackin' him again next week. You meet her and take care of her."

"Anythin' special?"

"Nope. Do what want with her, double cap, 1-8-7, and burn the bitch! Hell, burn her alive if you want, I don't fuckin' care. But bury her deep after, you feel me?"

"Gotcha Antwon."

"I want her outside of Farmington, where the worms'll eat her corpse."

"Got the place."

"Usual terms."

"Word." The two turned and sauntered out.

Antwon relaxed. He shouted at one of his girls, "Bring me a forty, Strawberry, an' drag yer skinny ass over here, and git down on yer knees!"

* * *

Detectives Wagenbach and Wyms looked at the crime scene with old eyes. The senior uniformed officer on site reported, with occasional glances at his notebook, "The victim's son came over this afternoon. He tried calling earlier in the day but there was no answer. He looked in the door and saw, well he saw this. It looks like he puked in the bushes by the driveway before he called 9-1-1. He's pretty much still in shock, the EMTs are looking after him now. We did a sweep of the neighborhood and saw no sign of any wild animals, or anything else out of the ordinary."

'Dutch' Wagenbach said, "Well Claudette, it's obvious that this was a sexual encounter involving blood sports, I'd guess she forgot the safety word, either that or her partner didn't care to continue the relationship."

"Is that all you can think of?" Detective Wyms asked, exasperated, "Anything anybody does is sex, sex, sex, to you. You do know, don't you, that there are other motivations in the world?"

"Not in my experience. Most crime comes down to sex, sick sex at that."

Wyms shook her head in mild annoyance as she snapped her gloves on. Her annoyance grew when an unmarked black SUV pulled up with a squeal of brakes and Detective Vic Mackey got out and stalked towards them. He pushed his dark sunglasses up, glanced over at the victim and said with a deep belly-laugh, "This don't look gang related to me, looks like a wild dog problem. You plannin' a transfer to animal control? Come to think of it, with your doghouse relationship with the DA's office right now, that might be a good idea!"

'Dutch' Wagenbach answered primly, "Dogs usually rip out the whole throat, they don't normally leave such neat canine tooth marks."

"Well shit, you got me there Wagenbach," Vic laughed, "I bow to your superior expertise on animal attacks. Or have you decided this is another one of your sex victims? Wait, I know, animal sex attacks!" Vic laughed loudly.

Dutch was irritated, "No, but our investigation has just started so I have no conclusions just yet."

"Well you get 'im Dutch-boy, I'm gonna go and solve some real crime." As he turned to go he noticed the man being attended to in the back of the ambulance. "Wait a minute, who's that?"

"That would be Dewayne Washington, the victim's son. He found his mother in this condition and called it in."

Vic's eyebrows shot up. "Dewayne is better known on the streets as 'Gunny', and he never was a Marine neither."

Claudette looked up, "That's 'Gunny' Washington? Arms supplier to the drug trade? Do you have anything on him that'll stick?"

"Nuthin'," replied Mackey, "he might as well be coated with greased Teflon. I got nothin' but unsubstantiated rumor on him, so far at least." Vic looked at the victim again, "It still looks like an animal attack to me, but keep an eye out in case it's something more, ah, gang related, would you? And I'll roust some of my contacts and see what I can find."

Claudette frowned as she watched Mackey drive away. "Hell, I wish he would..." She trailed off rather than voice her complaints.

TBC

* * *

BtVS Cast:

Buffy Summers... Sarah Michelle Gellar

Dawn Summers... Michelle Trachtenberg

Faith Lehane... Eliza Dushku

Alexander (Xander) Harris... Nicholas Brendon

Willow Rosenberg... Alyson Hannigan

Rupert Giles... Anthony Stewart Head

Kennedy... Iyara Limon

Riley Finn... Marc Blucas

The Shield Cast:

Captain David Aceveda... Benito Martinez

Detective Vic Mackey... Michael Chiklis

Detective Shane Vendrell... Walton Goggins

Officer Julien Lowe... Michael Jace

Detective Holland "Dutch" Wagenbach... Jay Karnes

Officer Danielle "Dannie" Sofer... Catherine Dent

Detective Claudette Wyms... CCH Pounder

Corrine Mackey Cathy... Cahlin Ryan

Detective Curtis "Lemonhead" Lemansky... Kenny Johnson

Detective Ron Gardarki... David Rees Snell

Cassidy Mackey... Autumn Chiklis

Captain Monica Rawlings... Glenn Close

Antwon Mitchell... Anthony Anderson

Detective Tavon Garris... Brian J. White

Lauren Riley... Natalie Zea


	2. Chapter 2

_The Shield _and_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

in a crossover FanFiction

**Antwon's Fangs**

by

Lancer47

AKA LancerFourSeven

& AKA STFarnham

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer_

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Dr. George Johnson flew home one day early. One day, one day was all it took to turn his life upside down. Well, it wasn't _that_ much of surprise to him, he'd been expecting something like this, but he had truly hoped for a change, a change that wasn't to be.

It was the end of a long trying day; talking with sales and marketing people always wore him down. It was after midnight when he opened the front door of his house that overlooked LA and a puff of fragrant smoke wafted out.

"Dad? Dad! What are you doing home so early?"

Dr. Johnson looked at his living room with a heavy heart. He counted at least six lethargic occupants, four of them partially naked, two bongs, a bowl of assorted pills, several baggies of green leafy substance, and some horrific noise which he assumed was music coming from what appeared to be a half melted plastic box. He stood still in the doorway for nearly a full minute under the baleful gaze of a roomful of druggies, including his own son.

"Out," he said with exaggerated calm.

"But dad, these are my friends, you can't send them home in the middle of the night in their condition! That might cause an accident and you'd be liable!"

Dr. Johnson replied, "No, not just your friends, all of you. Out, now."

George Junior looked shocked. "Me too? You're throwing me out of my own home?"

"You've got it in one – this is no longer your home. I'm disowning you."

"What! You can't do that!"

"You're over eighteen, so I can, and I'm doing it. I never want to be this disappointed again, and it's apparent that the only way that will happen is if I never see you again."

Junior smirked, "Oh, now we get the '_this hurts me more than you'_ speech, you fucking old hypocrite you!"

"You misunderstand, I'm past all hurt. I failed, and I'm admitting it, and I'm tossing my mistake out with the garbage."

Young George managed another shocked look. "You mean it? You're really throwing me and my friends out on the street at midnight with no place to go and high as kites?"

"Yes. And take all this paraphernalia with you. Whatever you leave behind will be thrown out."

Seven hours later Dr. Johnson was standing at the foot of his driveway, tamping down several large plastic bags in four large garbage cans, when a police car drove up. He looked up without curiosity and watched as two police officers, one white female and one black male, approached him. "Are you Dr. Johnson?" asked the woman.

"Yes," he replied noncommittally.

"We've received a complaint that loud music and partying with drugs occurred here through the night. Is there anything you'd like to say to that?"

"I suppose it was true. I came home from a business trip around midnight and found my son and his friends in a drugged stupor. I kicked all of them out. They took their drugs with them, but left some of their toys, it's all here in the trash."

The black cop looked sympathetic, the woman didn't react one way or another except to relax slightly. "Do you mind if we look around?" she asked.

"Go ahead," he replied dully, as if he had little left to care about.

The cops wandered through the house, noticing the appearance of hasty cleaning in the living room. They could smell the remains of the party. "What do you think Julian?"

"I believe him, Dannie. He looks like hell, I'm going to recommend he see my priest, that man is deeply troubled. Just like anyone would be who just tossed their kid into the street."

"Now what did I tell you about getting too close? He's probably a skel, you know."

"I can't help it, I feel sorry for the man."

They walked out a few minutes later and found Dr. Johnson standing by his garbage cans, staring at the ground but seeing nothing at all.

"If you want, we'll keep an eye out for your son," officer Julian Lowe said gently.

"It's too late, it no longer matters, he's no longer part of my life, I don't have a son now."

* * *

A week later Jules dragged himself into Antwon's warehouse. He looked like a man preparing for his own execution. Antwon spotted him.

"Fuck," said Antwon when he spotted Jules, "don't fuckin' tell me."

"Yes, that girl with a sword, she..."

Antwon Mitchell angrily threw a half-full Budweiser at Jules; Jules barely dodged it, but got drenched when the bottle broke against the wall behind him.

"FUCK!" yelled Antwon, "I can't fucking believe this! Twice? TWICE! Twice you been jacked now? By the same dimwit fuckin' cunt!? And she don't even have a fuckin' gun? How come she ain't dead? Where the fuck is Peas and 8-Ball? Anyone seen 'em?"

There was silence from his crew.

"Jules, if I find, I even _begin_ to suspect that you know somethin' 'bout this, you're gonna regret it. So's your whole fuckin' family: parents, brothers an' sisters an' I knows every one of 'em, cousins, girlfriends, kids... Ya see where I'm comin' at? You can't run, you can't hide, an' if you book, I'll fuck ya raw and bleedin' then I'll start cuttin' 'till ya beggin' fer death."

"I got it Antwon. But I don't know nuthin' you don't know."

Antwon threw himself back down in his worn Barca-Lounger and grabbed another beer. He angrily punched the button to turn on the massager, but it had given up the ghost due to the incredible overload caused by Antwon leaping into the chair too many times. "Only reason I don't kill you now is 'cuz my mama is friends wit' your mama. But you better be tellin true cuz if you ain't, I won't let that stop me from killin' everyone you love in the world wit you watchin'."

* * *

Lauren Riley carefully drove her SUV in low range 4WD down the rough track at an officer's direction. At the bottom she turned away from the old warehouse on the right to the field of trash and weeds to the left. Her dog barked excitedly from behind the wire screen. She parked next to a couple of unmarked police SUVs.

Vic Mackey smiled widely at her and came over to say hello. "Hey Lauren, long time no see! I was just thinkin' about callin' you."

"No you weren't. You haven't thought of me since our one and only date."

"That's not true."

"Then why haven't you called?" Lauren talked as she walked around to let her dog out of the back. "Gone back to your wife yet?"

"Naw, but I've been busy. The city pays me to put bad guys away and they expect me to do it."

"Yeah, yeah. So what do we have here?"

"Some kid's dog found a detached human hand and proudly brought it back to him. In the wonders never cease department, the mother actually called it in. Sheriffs deputies found a body dumped in a ditch. It was obviously a homicide, and there were some indications that connects this to a couple of our cases, so they called us for a joint investigation.

"So this guy here looks like he was buried some time ago and rain just washed away some topsoil. Only problem, the body they found has two hands and we still have an extra left hand without a matching right. So..."

"So it's up to Rover to do his thing." Lauren released her dog and gave him the command: "Search!" The dog took off, running back and forth steadily down the gully. He stopped and sat down, 'woofed' once and happily waited with his tongue hanging out. Lauren ran up and flagged the location. She said, 'Good dog!' and 'Search!' and the dog continued his pattern. A few minutes later he 'woofed' again and sat down. Another flag, another search. He paused at one spot, 'woofed', took a leak, then continued on without a command until he found another spot, woofed again, sat on his haunches and looked happily at Lauren.

Half an hour later they had twelve marked locations in the field. Lauren started to put the dog back in the car, but he looked towards the abandoned warehouse and growled softly. So Lauren gave him the 'search' command again and he loped towards the old building, the officers following along. Inside the dog had stopped on a patch of freshly poured concrete and 'woofed'.

"Shit!" said Mackey, "it's gonna be jackhammer time in here."

Lauren marked the spot and the dog continued searching. Eventually, they had more than a dozen places marked. Lauren said, "You know, each of these patches looks like they're big enough for multiple graves."

"Yeah, I think maybe we'll get the sonar mapping crew in here before we start digging. For one thing, I don't want to hit any electric or gas lines."

"Good thinking."

Lauren headed back to her car with both Rover and Detective Mackey dogging her steps.

"Lauren, come on. How 'bout dinner and a movie? Huh? Come on."

"Only if you remember to call me sometime when I'm _not_ searching for dead bodies for you."

"Deal!"

"We'll see."

When Lauren Riley got home she put her dog in the back yard, made sure he had food and water, then she searched through her desk drawers until she found a rarely used satellite phone. She punched '1' and waited. Finally there was an answer.

"Riley Finn."

"Hey, how's my favorite Finn?" said Lauren Riley.

"Not too shabby. How's the Riley branch doin'?"

"Oh you know, Rover and I found several dozen possible dead people and one possible dead – well – something you might be interested in checkin' out."

"Oh. Where?"

"West of Los Angeles, outside the Farmington district next to the Interstate, down an embankment, not far from a huge concrete drainage ditch. I can email you a map if you want. But you might need me to find the suspected, uh, you know what."

"Still can't say the word, huh?"

"No. I refuse to acknowledge they exist."

"And yet you still call me?"

"Yeah, well, I may not be large, but I still contain inconsistencies. Can you do something? Problem is, the cops may decide to dig there, even though Rover didn't mark the spot with anything other than dog piss. Oh, and there's two jurisdictions to worry about: LAPD and the County Sheriff's Department because it's just outside the city, but some of the bodies seem to be connected to a couple of Farmington cases."

"Nothing better for confusion than multiple jurisdictions. Okay, my unit can't get there anytime soon. But let me make some phone calls, someone will get back to you. And hey, you hang in there, okay? You're doin' good."

"Yeah sure, see ya."

* * *

A couple of weeks went by – detectives and forensics investigators were authorized rare overtime on the case since it was a very large body-dump for what must be a particularly odious criminal. But one day two detectives knocked on Antwon's door. He opened up and grimaced. "What do the po-po want wit' me now?"

"Are you Antwon Mitchell?"

"And what if I am?"

"Do you know a Lucy Mae Waltrip and Hotchkiss Landsteiner?"

Antwon laughed long and loud with obvious good humor. "Do I _look_ like I know anyone named Lucy Mae or, what was it? _Hotchkiss_?"

"Otherwise known as Peas and 8-Ball."

Antwon's face shuttered right down. "I heard of 'em. They gots nuthin' to do wit' me. I don't know 'em. Watchoo askin' me fo?"

"We found their bodies buried in a gully west of Farmington. Along with a few others. Oddly enough, the guns found buried with Peas and 8-Ball are a match for the bullets found in several other bodies found in the same area. Would you know anything about that?"

"Of course not! Why would I? I'm _re_-formed, I teach Sunday school, I lecture the community, I'm workin' on being more involved with the church! You ain't got no call to be comin' 'round accusin' me of all these terrible, awful crimes!"

"Yeah, yeah, we know, you're a fine upstandin' citizen, Antwon."

"That's MISTER Mitchel to you."

"Yeah, sure. We've also identified three more of the bodies, and they're all either members, or I should say, ex-members, of your crew. Except one who we know for a fact used to be a competitor of yours."

"Get outta here! I don't know nuthin' bout 'nuthin. Either arrest me or get the fuck offa my property! From now on, if you have anythin' you wanna say ta me, you talk to my lawyer – he'll tell me what I need. Here's his card." He slammed the door shut.

* * *

George Johnson Jr. slowly regained consciousness. It felt like a family of unsynchronized pile-drivers had taken up residence in his skull; the pain was so overwhelming he could hardly think. His eyes were gummy and his nose dripped something. He started to wipe his face but he couldn't move his hands—he forced an eyelid up and took in his surroundings – what he saw horrified him. He quickly closed the eye. A moment later he took a look with his other eye, genuinely hoping that the scene would be different this time. But no, he was still chained to a steel rack in some kind of warehouse, his friends from the abbreviated party were chained next to him, all except Eddie – he was on the floor in front of hi – in several large pieces. _What the __fuck is this?_ he wondered. But it was more than he could accept – he passed out again.

* * *

Back at the Barn at the end of their shift, Julian asked Danny, "You want to join me in church? I'm going to see if I can persuade Dr. Johnson to come with me tonight for a little spiritual support."

Officer Dannie Sofer politely refrained from rolling her eyes. "No Julian, I don't think so. You go and do what you think you need to do without me."

Julian tried again, "It would do you good you know..."

Danny interrupted, "No it wouldn't, and anyway, this is Tuesday, my night for unarmed combat practice."

Julian smiled indulgently, "Oh yeah, you girls and your 'combat'. Good luck with that." He was not entirely successful at hiding his amusement.

"Hey, you can laugh, but our instructor could take you down before you knew it, Julian. She's good, and she's taught me and the other cops a lot, and the course isn't just for women you know."

Julian answered with a smile, "Yes, well I've met your 'instructor', she's a cheerleader with a hobby. When are you going to learn that upper body strength and sheer size is the biggest factor in a fight? Take _me_ down? I don't think so. Besides, she'd have to disarm me first, and that just ain't gonna happen."

Vic Mackey walked by and overheard the conversation. "Ha, he's got you there Dannie, I know women cops add a lot to the force, even though you don't do as well with the rough stuff. But be careful that this instruction of yours doesn't make you overconfident."

Dannie was clearly affronted, "Vic, you're the poster child of overconfidence, the very image of the strutting overconfident overbearing rooster, and you're lecturing _me_ on overconfident behavior? Grow up Vic."

"Hey, just tryin' to help. And you know I'll always have your back, you don't need to beat up suspects as long as I'm around."

"Oh that makes me sleep better," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_The Shield _and_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

in a crossover FanFiction

**Antwon's Fangs**

by LancerFourSeven

AKA Lancer47

& AKA STFarnham

_Notes:_

_Anyone who actually tries to use my detailed instructions on fighting technique in an actual fight is on their own. I tried to make it sound realistic, but this_ _is fiction, not an instruction manual._

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Vic Mackey walked into his apartment, "Cassidy! You ready? Sorry I'm late hon, but we gotta run or your mom's gonna kill me!"

"Daaaaaaad, where've you been? Mom's called like four times already!"

"Yeah yeah, I'm sorry, but you know my job and all..."

"Sure dad, whatever, let's go. Mom's already left work, tonight's her night at some new gym or something, you're supposed to drop me off there instead of home. Here, I've got the directions."

It took Vic half an hour to find the place, and it didn't really look like a gym from the outside. In fact, the neighborhood didn't look all that inviting to Vic, so he escorted his daughter inside and up the stairs so he could be certain she made it safely to Corrine's side.

As they came up the stairs, they could hear a woman lecturing. Vic stopped at the back and listened, Cassidy bouncing impatiently by his side.

"Okay, this is the thing ladies, a man, even one who's your size, has about twice the upper body strength as you, at least if he's close to your age and physical condition. This means that no matter how good you get, you cannot _ever_ be overconfident when fighting men. I know it's unfair that even your average lard-assed couch potato is usually stronger than the average female, but that's the way it is – I didn't create this world and if I had you know it'd be different.

"But all is not lost! Most men are almost always way overconfident when fighting women, and you can use that to your advantage. You must fight smart and you must fight dirty. How do you do that? First, stay out of reach of his fists – a woman absolutely cannot stand toe to toe with a man and trade punches, unless you're supernaturally strong," she added with a wry chuckle. "So, stab a heel through his foot, break his knee with your boot, hit his nose straight on with your open palm, punch him in the throat with your knuckles, kick his shin, kick him in the balls. Careful though, the last isn't quite as good a target as they'd have you believe on TV. Why, you ask? Because the target is high and men are nearly mindlessly instinctive when it comes to protecting the family jewels."

There was a titter of laughter from the audience. "He'll twist and turn, clinch his thighs, block with his fists, jump back, in short, do anything to make you miss and you'll just kick him in the thigh, and that'll just piss him off and he'll redouble his efforts to pound you into the ground. No, don't aim for the testicles unless you make a mistake and find yourself grappling with him – that's when you smash your knee into his crotch, when you're close enough so you won't telegraph your intention and you need to do something spectacularly effective to break his hold and regain distance. You cannot, _ever_, wrestle with a male attacker – if you do, you lose. Okay, everyone start practicing your basic _katas_ and kicks, those are two of your few advantages. And work on your flexibility and ladies."

Cassidy and Vic walked in on that note_._ Much to Vic's surprise he recognized many of the women there as police officers. Most of the occupants were distracted by Vic's entrance so that Vic couldn't help himself. He said loudly, "So, this is where you girls practice 'unarmed combat'! I see why you keep it hidden!"

He could see Corrine glaring at him, Dannie Sofer didn't look too happy, Captain Rawlings gazed at him with cool detachment, and Cassidy said loudly, "Da-aad, quit being such a tool!"

The instructor locked eyes with Vic and said, "Ah, just what I need! A volunteer! Would you like to help me Detective Mackey? If you're not too busy?"

Vic liked what he saw. He nearly swaggered up to the front of the class, his eyes raking over her, nearly every detail of her body transmitted through her pure white spandex training outfit. She was so distracting that he didn't notice the mixed looks of glee and apprehension from the students.

"Ah, well maybe I could help," he said to the instructor.

"My name's Kennedy. You can help me demonstrate to the class how a woman can take down a much bigger attacker, if she has the right moves and the element of surprise."

Vic laughed, "Hey I don't know if I'm your man or not. I do have some experience street fighting you know—you might find I'm a hard target."

"Don't worry detective, this is just a demonstration – I promise not to hurt you. Now let's stand sideways to the class, facing each other. Now pretend you're my pimp or something and you're planning to beat me down for some transgression."

Vic didn't much care for that characterization, so he suggested, "Howzabout I'm just some random mugger?"

"Sure, that'll work. Let's say I just pissed you off cuz I won't give you my purse – so now you're gonna hit me. Just aim your right fist at me in slow motion so I can explain some basics to the class."

Vic slowly made as if to hit her. As his beefy hand moved in slow motion towards Kennedy's face, Kennedy said, "Now ladies, please notice how Vic's body moves as his fist and arm move forward. This is common in almost all street attacks: you see, as his fist aims towards my face, his whole torso starts to twist. This arc motion, small though may be, can be used to defend yourself. Most people aren't even aware of this tendency to rotate – what engineers call _moment – _so you need only to push his hand further to your right, or his left, because that is the way he is naturally moving. It's kind of like pushing somebody over who is already near to overbalancing."

Kenn put up her hand and said, "Hold that pose Vic, while explain something." She turned back to the class and continued, "If your opponent is a trained boxer, or other similar discipline, he's gonna know this. Instead of planning to hit you once, he'll be in the middle of one-two punch and you can only win if you're really, _really_ fast and get him in the middle of his first punch. But in that case, you've got major problems, and you'd best shoot him if you have a gun. If not, run like the wind."

The class took Kenn's words seriously. "Okay, back to Vic here, pretending to be your average street crook, not an experienced and disciplined fighter."

Kennedy got back into position and said, "Go slow." She slowly put up her left hand and pushed Vic's right hand further in it's natural arc. "You see how easy it is to make him miss, he just doesn't expect it – but ya still gotta be fast to keep from getting hit, so at the same time you want to lean a little to your left. If you do it right, his fist will flash past your face without touching you. To complete the exercise, you put up your other hand, grab his wrist with both hands, yank violently down and to your left, twist your body like so, lock your hands like this, turn your body, and your attacker suddenly has to twist himself around. If he doesn't, you'll break his elbows or dislocate his shoulder and that'll be the end of the fight. But most of the time they'll try to avoid getting bones broken, so once he twists around you can just follow through with a rolling hip-lock and he hits the ground, hard. Then you either run, kill him, or handcuff him, depending on your particular situation. The one thing you don't do is try to knock him out, that's something that only works on TV. Unless you have a great deal of experience you probably won't knock anyone unconscious without a very good chance of killing them, too."

Vic smiled as his slow-mo twisting motion brought his side into full body contact with Kenn's body. He exaggerated his movement until he could feel her breasts against his arm. Kennedy smiled with feral anticipation.

"Now let's try it for real. You up for it Detective? Do you think you can try to attack me without holding back?"

"If I don't hold back, Ms. Kennedy, you'll get hurt; I don't hurt women, it's not my nature." He heard Corrine let out a soft, bitter laugh, and sadly added, "Intentionally anyway."

"Don't worry, I won't let you touch me. All you have to do is swing a fist at my face, but if you can't do it, then I guess you can't do it."

"Oh, I can do it alright, I just don't want to."

"Because you can't, you can't hit me because I can move faster than a big ugly fat fucker like you!" Kennedy taunted.

Vic, unperturbed, said, "All right, let's do it a half speed then."

"Okay, hit me!"

Vic swung his fist moderately fast towards Kennedy and wasn't all that surprised when she grabbed his wrist as before and twisted him around and stopped. He _was_ surprised to find he was in a locked hold and couldn't move much at all, but he was philosophical about it and enjoyed the feel of Kennedy's torso pressed against his back. Kennedy's arms were just barely long enough to wrap around his waist, but he found the lock she had on his wrists was surprisingly strong. He turned to the audience and said, "But this is really a fake thing you know, in reality the perp will move far faster than I did, and will probably be armed too."

Kennedy released him and said, "Fair enough, get out your gun, and this time try to attack me for real, _if_ you have the ability to do so."

"Sure." Vic popped the clip from his weapon, pulled back the slide and worked it to make certain it was empty, and put the clip in his pocket. He dry fired the gun in a safe direction, and only then did he point it close to, but still not directly at, Kennedy.

He was astonished when she easily disarmed him moments later, punching him painfully in the process. Without thinking, he retaliated in full force with his left fist flying towards Kennedy's jaw. It was too late to pull back and he really had lost it, so he was further amazed when Kennedy grabbed his hand, twisted his arm around and down the opposite direction from before, his whole body following his arm (like he had a choice), and then he found himself falling towards the ground only to be violently twisted against Kennedy's hip and then flung through the air to land on his back. His harsh landing reverberated throughout the room, the wood floor vibrated with the shock of his full weight crashing down on the thin mat.

The students applauded, Kennedy took a bow and then reached out to help Vic to his feet. Vic wasn't through though and pulled hard on Kennedy's hand. He didn't notice that there was no resistance until it was too late. Kenn let Vic pull her and jumped to follow, her feet over her head, she tucked into a ball and rolled in the air above Vic until she landed butt first on Vic's head, extending her feet just in time to take up most of the shock so as not to cause serious injury to Vic.

A muffled "OW!" came from beneath her rear end. Kennedy hadn't intended to land on Vic's face like that so she stood rapidly, blushing slightly. The class laughed.

Vic shook his head and got slowly to his feet. He grinned with infectious good nature as he said, "Well, maybe there is something to this chop-socky stuff of yours after all." The class laughed with him, he was hard for women to ignore and they responded to his natural humor.

Kennedy said, "It's not really Asian, mostly I do Krav Maga, with a few personal variations that takes into account my size. It also helps that I'm stronger than I look."

"Well," replied Vic, "I have to admit I'm impressed, especially by the way you so smoothly reversed your moves when I used my left instead of my right hand. And I particularly enjoyed your finale.

"But you know, there's a big difference between doing this in a controlled environment, and doing it out in the street in a situation that's so fluid you don't know what's gonna happen from one moment to the next."

"Oh, I know that better than you think, detective. Do you have time for one more demo? It's a short one."

Vic shrugged. "Sure."

"This one might hurt just a little bit." Kennedy held a finger and thumb a quarter inch apart to demonstrate how little it would hurt.

Vic shrugged again.

Kenn, in lecture mode, said, "Now I gotta be honest ladies, I'm pretty good at this, but I've been practicing since I was five years old. One of things you learn in the martial arts is that the time it takes for your eye to register an opponent's hand start to move until the brain identifies that movement is about two tenths of second, more or less. So if you can strike faster than that, he won't see you coming until after you've broken one of his bones, and that's a helluva good way to win a fight. Now, _I_ can strike that fast, but _you_ can't, at least not until you've practiced your katas about ten thousand times each. So you're thinking, 'What the hell am I doing here?', right? Because how many of you are gonna work at this as hard as I have for the last twenty years? Some of you, I hope the answer is yes. The rest of you, well, you're gonna hafta learn some tricks, you still need to work at it, but maybe not so insanely single-minded as me.

"So here's an example: suppose you're waiting for a ride, or a bus, or a taxi; it's late, everyone's gone except you, and wouldn't you know it but some guy stumbles out of a bar down the block and spots you waiting. Now this guy, he's not really a hardened criminal, he's guy that's had too much to drink. And you know how guys are, a few drinks and they're suddenly thinking with their dicks instead of their brains. Right Vic?"

Vic shrugged. "Yeah, I've been a cop for a while, I've seen it all, and you know you're right."

"So this strange guy is coming on to you, and he thinks he's _sooo_ charming while stinking of booze. Well, you can see where this is gonna go – so do you shoot him?"

The audience shakes their heads.

"No, not yet anyway. If it goes too far, you might have to shoot him. So let's stop it before it gets there. I'm not gonna get fancy here, this'll be plain and simple. Here, detective, pretend you're this guy and come on to me."

Vic grinned, "Ya know, _I've_ never done this, but I've certainly seen it plenty of times." Vic loosened up, shook off his cop demeanor and slackly stepped towards Kennedy, saying, "Heyyyy baby, ya wanna get some? Huh, baby... URK! YOW!"

Kenn kicked him in the shin, hard enough that Vic started hopping around on one leg, clutching the other leg with both hands. Then she swept his single supporting leg out from under with her right leg and Vic crashed heavily to the mats.

Kennedy said to her audience, "See? Nothing fancy needed, after a little practice all of you will be able to do that." She looked down and asked, "You okay Vic?"

He groaned a response.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

_The Shield _and_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

in a crossover FanFiction

**Antwon's Fangs**

by LancerFourSeven

AKA Lancer47

& AKA STFarnham

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer_

**Chapter Four**

After leaving the gym, Vic drove to the station where Shane was assigned these days, and waited, idly rubbing his sore shin. It wasn't long before Shane walked out the door with his usual swagger and lack of observation of his surroundings. Vic carefully followed him to a meeting with Antwon's lieutenants and he swore to himself as he watched from his car. _Dammit_, he thought, _Shane isn't smart enough to handle Antwon. This can only end badly. _When Vic saw everyone pulling guns he quietly got out of the car with his gun drawn, ready to provide backup. But somehow Shane talked himself out of getting killed, yelling at Antwon on his way back to the car. Vic, still in the shadows, shook his head in irritation. Shane thought he was intimidating Antwon, but Vic could see that it would be only a matter of time before the drug dealer cracked the whip and Shane would be done for.

* * *

Later that night, Vic met Lemansky in a small park. "Hey Vic," said Lem, "what's so damned important!"

"It's Shane. That idiot has got himself tied up with that shit Antwon. Shane thinks he can run him, like we used to do with Rondell and Tio. But Antwon is a whole new ballgame; all four of us workin' together couldn't make it happen. Shane sure as shit ain't gonna handle Antwon singlehandedly."

"So what are we here for tonight?"

"We're gonna do a little recon, see if we can find some of Antwon's operations. Try to get ahead of the game so maybe we can pull Shane out of shit-creek when the time comes."

"To hell with that, Vic, I say we let Shane swing by his dick."

"Come on, we can't do that," Vic sighed heavily. "If he gets picked up by IAD, sooner or later he'd talk, probably sooner. He'd take us all down, maybe by accident, maybe on purpose, I don't know, but he doesn't have the balls to stand up to them."

"So what, you planning on killing him?" Lemansky looked ill.

"No, no! Of course not! We watch out for him! Step in and protect him! Watch his back! Shit! What the hell do think, Lem? Come on, dammit, let's see what we can find."

* * *

Antwon stalked into his warehouse and went into the back room. He looked at the rack with the chained prisoners and hid a shudder. He turned to his two vampires, both rather pale, and said, "Okay, I'm through fuckin' around. That girl, her name's Kennedy – she's jacked my money for the last time – you two go find her and suck her dry. Make sure she's completely dead and buried. And I don't want her comin' back as a vamp neither. Fuckin' kill her!"

"You got it boss."

Antwon went back out to his Barca-Lounger. _Fucking vampires_, he thought to himself, _unreliable shits. Not quite as bad as that fucking insane demon that wouldn't kill or torture anyone for me, but nearly as uncontrollable. I'm gonna have to g__e__t me a backup plan going right the fuck now. _ Antwon knew that the only reason these two vamps followed his orders was partly because they worked for him before getting turned – it was mostly just habit – and partly they were truly frightened of Delia. But he was uncomfortably aware that the situation could change, even though he made certain they had plenty to eat – or drink, as the case may be. And, sister or not, Delia frightened the shit out of Antwon, too. The situation was unstable, and he damn well knew it couldn't last. He just hoped he didn't end up as a vampire himself, killed by his own sister – wouldn't that just suck hairy balls. He'd best stock up on holy water and wooden stakes.

* * *

That night Kennedy kissed Willow good night and went out the back door for her patrol. She worked hard to keep Will from seeing just how much she enjoyed stalking through the night, but if she was honest with herself, Willow probably knew.

Kenn stopped worrying about Willow the moment she smelled vamps and her inner predator came to the forefront. Two of them, just down the alley hiding behind the rickety fence. _Were those vampires waiting for me to come out tonight?_ she wondered. If so, that was a big no-no. Kenn stopped to think. She looked around carefully, extending her senses as much as possible. She sniffed the air, opened her mouth wide and breathed in to taste the air on her tongue. She consciously let her eyes respond to the dark and spent a full five minutes observing her surroundings with every sense she could bring forth. Finally she decided there were only two vamps. _Huh_, she thought, _did they even know what she was? Two vampires trying to ambush one Slayer was just insulting. I guess they're escalating after __I turned the tables on __those two assassins. Maybe they'll back off after I slay their vampires tonight._

She decided not to play around and play it safe. She took twenty long silent steps down the alley and vaulted over the fence in a quick but quiet motion, her slayer muscles making easy work of the eight foot high planked fence. She landed right behind the vampires and slipped her sword from her back sheath, took three fast steps, and swung the blade outwards in an arc from her right shoulder to her left, incredibly fast, right through the neck of number one; she reversed the blade direction, took another step, and cut through the other vamp's neck like a hot knife through soft butter. She watched two amorphous clouds of dust floating off in the wind.

"Huh," she said quietly into the night, "that was easy. Maybe too easy."

.

The next day, about mid-morning, Kennedy sneaked down alleys and over rooftops until she got to the neighborhood stash house. She deftly leaped over the visual range of a camera, took a couple of steps then sprung towards the roof, grasping onto the gutter but her legs continuing up until she was doing a handstand, then she let go with one hand, swiveled around, folded her legs and suddenly was standing up at the edge of the roof, without having made a sound. Then she slowly made her way to where she could watch for anyone entering or leaving the house and patiently waited. It was no more than ten minutes before one of the runners sauntered up and gave today's password into the phone at the door. She let him start to enter, then jumped down behind him, grabbing him around the waist with her left arm while her sword arm went around his other side, the sword waving in front of her new hostage. She forced him in, even though he struggled valiantly he didn't stand a chance against a slayer. Her appearance created pandemonium; two new guards were waiting, she slapped their hands with the flat of her _katana_ and they dropped their guns, both grasping their wrists in pain. She let go of the hostage, then shoved him hard across the room into the other two, who were counting money and packing vials. She didn't wait to watch, she immediately added more punches to the disarmed guards, then secured them with plastic ties. Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, she picked up one of the guns on the floor, a 9mm Glock, and fired it offhand, hitting Jules' gun which he had just retrieved from his desk. He yelped as the gun was forced sideways and broke his trigger finger.

Kennedy stood up and said, "All right, got that out of your system now? Why do you always try something with me? I'm not robbing you, I'm not taking your drugs, I don't want to kill anyone, I just want twenty percent of the take, that's all. That's your price for doing business here. What's so hard to understand? Just have it ready for each week and things will go much simpler."

"It isn't your money, bitch, it's Antwon Mitchell's, and he really really pissed about this."

"Didn't you explain it to him? If he wants to do business here, he has to pay. If he won't pay, then he can't do business here. It's nothing more than a fee, a business expense."

"But, but, _nobody_ tells Antwon Mitchell where he can and can't do business!"

"Wrong, I tell him. If this argument doesn't stop, I'll tell him personally."

Jules hands shook as he opened his safe and pulled out stacks of bills. Kenn walked over and split it roughly into quarters. She shoved a canvas bag at Jules and said, "Fill it!"

Jules couldn't stop shaking, but he filled the bag and handed it to her.

Kenn said, "Thank you, I'll see you next week."

She stalked out of the house, angrily muttering under her breath, "Buttheads thought they could scare me! What assholes! Well, by now they should know I don't scare easy. Maybe I should take care of a couple more – ow! What the fuck was that? Someone hit me in the head with a rock?"

She started to put her hand to her head, but her arm suddenly felt very heavy. Then she started to fall. She tried to hold her arms out to break her fall, but couldn't. She fell straight to the sidewalk, nose down. The bones in her nose and brow made sickening noises when she hit the pavement. Someone ran out of the house, grabbed both her bag and her sword, and scurried back inside.

* * *

Detectives Wagenbach and Wyms were on their way to interview suspects. They were discussing possible lunch locations, cruising down a quiet street when a very loud gunshot reverberated and echoed from somewhere close by. They looked around frantically, trying to find something to focus on, anything to to suggest where the shooter might be. They couldn't help but notice a large commotion up in an oak tree – leaves shaking and branches moving about – until a man with a rifle fell, windmilling all the way down, about half a short block in front of the car.

"What the hell?" Wyms exclaimed as she accelerated then slammed the car to a stop in front of the fallen man

Dutch said, "Well, is that good luck or what?" He opened the door and started to get out of the car when he noticed another man step out from behind a low fence and start to grab the rifle, still clutched by the man who fell. "POLICE! FREEZE!" he yelled as he drew his gun, "PUT DOWN THE GUN! PUT DOWN THE GUN!"

The man let go of the rifle but turned towards the cops. He had a handgun in his right hand and started to raise his arm. Dutch and Wyms shot simultaneously from opposite sides of the car, the gunman was hit but got off a couple of shots, but he only hit the grill of the police car. He fell to the ground, unconscious before he hit the earth.

* * *

"What was that?" asked Julien.

"That was a gunshot. A rifle, to be precise, followed by two or more handguns," Dannie answered as she swerved the patrol car around, hit the siren, bounced over a curb with sparks flying and accelerated up a wide sidewalk between two apartment buildings, coming to a sudden stop in front of a girl lying on the ground. "Look sharp Julien, the shooters could still be out there." She grabbed her mic and spoke rapidly and authoritatively into her radio, "One tango thirteen, shots fired, shots fired, one down. Request EMT and backup at Ocean Vista View Apartments on thirty-second and Tidwell."

"_One Tango thirteen, one tango ten and eight are en route. Ambulance to follow soonest."_

"10-4."

Dannie attempted a little first aid on the wounded girl, horrified to discover that it was her martial arts instructor.

Julien pulled his gun and looked around frantically – but he saw nothing to shoot. Another pair of cops arrived then and soon the whole neighborhood was swarming with police.

* * *

A day later Buffy and Faith flew into LAX and rented a car for the drive to Farmington. They didn't say much, both were worried about Willow – and Kennedy too, of course. They finally made it to the hospital and found Willow in a waiting room next to the ICU. Faith looked in an observation window, Kennedy was unconscious, hooked up to various machines which beeped contentedly to indicate she was still alive. Her head was heavily bandaged, her nose too, and she had two black eyes peeking out from around the bandages. _She looks like a raccoon_, Faith thought uncharitably, but kept the thought to herself for Willow's sake. Faith turned back to Willow and sat down next to her.

Willow stared at the wall which separated Kenn from her without seeing much. Her eyes were puffy and red. Buffy said quietly, "Willow?"

She looked up and smiled wanly, "Hey Buffy, Faith. I'm glad you're here."

Faith said, "Hey Red. Anything new since you called?"

"Oh, I guess. Yesterday the doctors were all supportive and super-sympathetic but I could tell they weren't hopeful. Today, they're all surprised that she has a chance. In fact, I overheard one doctor mumbling under his breath as he studied an x-ray—something about miracles and the impossible. I guess the old Slayer healing is working for Kennedy. I don't suppose we can tell the docs about that, though."

"And you, Will," asked Buffy, "how are _you_ holding up?"

"You mean, am I going to go all Dark Willow on you?"

"No, no Will, I didn't think that!"

"Yes you did—you're being all '_Will' _this and '_Will' _that. But I do understand your concern; it _is_ a legitimate question based on my past actions. To answer your question, unasked though it was, no, I'm not going to go black-Willow on you. I'll admit, it was a little close yesterday, but I stayed in control."

Faith and Buffy glanced at each in relief. Faith said, "So, any new information on the police front?"

"No, they haven't told me much. They have a suspect in custody though. I don't know who it is; to keep myself under control I have to to stay away and let them do their job." Willow looked up and asked, "Would you see what you can find out, Faith? I mean, since you're carrying a badge these days. Your badge is still good, right?"*

"Yeah, this damn Federal Agent thing was supposed to fade away weeks ago, but they keep giving me assignments. I think the Powers That Be are fuckin' with me and there ain't one fuckin' thing I can do about it."

"So does that mean you'll go talk to the cops?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll check it out."

"So why are you hanging around here?" said Willow, "Go investigate!"

"Don't get yer panties in a bunch, Red, I'm outta here."

* * *

Faith walked into the Barn and asked to see the Captain. She was escorted to Captain Rawlings' desk in the middle of the first floor. "Captain Rawlings? I'm DCIS Special Agent Faith Lehane, on loan to the Justice Department." She flashed credentials and handed her card over.

"What can I do for you, Agent Lehane?" The Captain took a close look at the card. It said that Special Agent Lehane was an Investigator for the SSID, Supervisory Special Investigation Department of The United States Department of Justice. Her badge said DCIS in large letters and Defense Criminal Investigative Service in small letters curved along the bottom. Captain Rawlings had no idea what any of this meant, other than Agent Lehane was some kind of busybody Fed with a badge and a gun.

"I'd like to see what you have on the Kennedy shooting. This is not an official inquiry, yet. But it could become one if you don't solve it soon."

"And why is the Justice Department interested in Ms. Kennedy, and do you know if that's her first name, last name or what her other name is?"

"Yes. As far as our interest goes, she was involved in a secret project. She's one of the good guys, but unofficially, if you know what I mean."

"I have not the foggiest idea of what you mean, Special Agent, why don't you spell it out for me?" She emphasized the 'Special' so that it was nearly an insult.

"Justice, specifically the United States Attorney General, wants to be kept up to date on her case for reasons that don't concern you. I'm the Investigator in the field. So tell me what's going on."

Rawlings frowned and said, "See how easy it is to be upfront? Even when you don't tell me anything?" Rawlings paused and then said, "The case is solved, we're getting ready to send it over to the DA's ofice. See Detectives Wagenbach and Wyms, they were the lead. Also talk to Detective Mackey, he didn't have much to do with this one, but he may have some insights that he hasn't shared with the rest of us, yet."

"Thanks."

* * *

George Jr. was hanging from his chains, still passed out, when a bucket of cold water was flung at him. He woke with a gasp, the water helped clear his eyes. He still had a pounding headache, but his head was a little clearer than yesterday. He looked up and a dark-skinned but nevertheless pale young woman put down her now-empty bucket. "You were scheduled to be killed today kid, but you got lucky. It seems my minions got themselves dusted so I have a temporary oversupply of food."

George shivered. He would have pissed his pants but the vampires had forgotten to give him any water to drink.

"No comments? No '_you can't get away with this_' shit? Okay then..."

She got right in his face, and then her face changed; first her eyes glowed yellow, then her forehead grew ridges, and finally her fangs grew large. She said softly, "My name is Delia, and I'll be your waiter today." She laughed and added, "No, no, I won't be waiting on you – am I funny or what? – _you're_ gonna be serving _me_."

She grabbed one of his restrained wrists and bit him, and sucked blood. After a minute, she jerked herself backwards. Then she went so far as to wrap a bandage around his wrist. George had never been so frightened in his life; he passed out again.

**TBC**

_Footnotes:_

_* Faith acquired status as a DCIS Special Agent through Riley Finn's department. It was supposed to be temporary, but it hasn't worn off yet. This is not really a sequel to 'Buffy Returns to Washington', but it is the same universe._


	5. Chapter 5

_The Shield _and_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

in a crossover FanFiction

**Antwon's Fangs**

by LancerFourSeven

AKA STFarnham

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer_

**Chapter Five**

"Hi, I'm Detective Wagenbach, call me Dutch. And this is Detective Claudette Wyms. What can we do for you Agent Lehane?"

"You were the first on the scene I understand?"

"No, Officers Lowe and Sofer were first on the scene. We were a block away when we heard a gunshot and then, incredibly, the shooter fell out of his tree right in front of us."

"Really?" Faith laughed, "he fell right in front of you?"

"Yep, plopped right down on the sidewalk, pretty much in front of our car. Since guys up in trees with guns are rarely up to any good – not in Farmington anyway – we stopped to arrest him. Of course it turned out he was already deceased seeing as he landed on his head, but we didn't know that yet when _another_ guy stepped out of the bushes and tried to take the rifle, and we shot him after he tried to shoot us – he lived and is under arrest in the hospital while he recovers."

"Hmm, the plot thickens. Did you identify either of them yet?"

"Yeah, the shooter is one Gordon 'Slimy' Demers. He's a, I mean _was_, a homeless man who lived under the fifty-eighth street bridge with a fairly large group of homeless. He used a cardboard refrigerator box as his bedroom."

"Do I want to know why he's called 'Slimy'?

"No, you really don't."

"Okay, moving along, what about the other man?"

"Yeah, well, he appears to be a tourist from Minnesota."

"Appears?"

"Yeah, his identification is suspicious as hell. We're trying to identify him through fingerprints or DNA, but so far, no go."

"So that's it?" exclaimed Faith, "you think you got it solved, case closed?"

"We caught the guy red handed, with the weapon – this weapon here on my desk. We found the bullet and matched it to the gun, we got his partner, and the shooter is dead. His partner is charged with attempted homicide and second degree homicide since a man was killed during a crime. So yeah, case closed – we don't see any other way for it to have gone down – and we're turning it over to the DA."

"Tell me about the rifle, detective," asked Faith.

"Well, this weapon," Dutch said, picking it up from his desk, "is an Accuracy International Arctic Warfare military sniper rifle."

"So it isn't just some hunting rifle swiped from a careless homeowner's garage," said Faith.

"Well, no." Wagenbach took a moment to remember where he was. "Its got a Schmidt and Bender PM II variable magnification scope mounted on a custom stainless steel black anodized barrel." He paused to aim at the balcony and took a look through the scope for a moment before setting it back down on the desk. "This rifle is so good it is capable of extreme range first shot hits even when the barrel is cold.

"Now this particular weapon is chambered for the .338 Lapua Magnum, so it's no wonder the shooter fell out of his tree after one shot – it's got some serious kick to it and if he wasn't ready for it, well..."

Faith scowled.

Dutch tapped and pointed to various features on the rifle while he spoke, "It has adjustable everything, and I don't see anything that is still on the factory setting. That means a real expert sighted it in and adjusted it until it fires perfectly."

Faith asked, "So how much did it cost?"

"Well, the basic rifle is is about three thousand dollars, not including accessories or custom barrel. With this scope, and the professional set-up, it probably went for at least six thou, maybe more."

Detective Wyms, frowning heavily, said, "So we got our bad guys and closed the case. Why are the Feds nosing around?"

Faith said, "Do you expect me to believe that some drunk who lives under a bridge in a cardboard box, somehow acquired a six thousand dollar rifle to assassinate a martial arts instructor? How? Did he walk to the nearest gun store and order it on his NRA Homeless Persons American Express Card? Or maybe he went down to the container yards and stole it? Since expensive military sniper rifles just like this one are are easily found lying around waiting to be picked up by random trespassers." She paused and stared with cold eyes at the detectives. "Here's one fact: I don't fucking believe it. And that's a fact you can take to the bank."

"All right, the case might be a little thin..." said Dutch.

"A _little_ thin? Have you even tried to trace the gun? And who is this guy? Why did he go to all this trouble to shoot an unarmed combat instructor? Did he suddenly get a hard-on for her? Is this some guy who really hates independent women and saw Kennedy as a threat to his lifestyle? Or maybe he just doesn't like lesbians? Did he actually shoot this gun? Did you do a GSR? You're tellin' me he's been a drunk for ten years or more, so I'm having a hard time seeing the picture here."

Wyms scowled some more. Wagenbach mumbled something unintelligible.

Faith continued, "The other guy looks far more interesting. Did you find anything on him, at all?"

Wyms spoke up, "No, he's a blank. Everything on him is faked: identity, license, Library card, credit cards; all fake. His clothes are brand new, right off the rack from a Wal-Mart, and untraceable. We've run his fingerprints prints on AFIS, no joy. We're running them now against military, prison, and international databases. Nothing yet, but the program's still running. We've sent a sample for DNA testing, but our lab's backed up at least four months, maybe longer. And he's not said one single word to anyone, other than to ask for a bedpan from time to time."

Faith said, "Send copies of everything to Justice, they're the ones all antsy and bothered over this. And if you send the gun to ATF you'll probably give those guys stiffies to brag about, and they may be able to trace it, eventually."

"Okay.'

Faith continued, "All right, this un-ID'd dead guy probably set it up. The drunk was supposed to be a cut-out, but your good fortune caught both guys. I'll bet ya dollars to doughnuts the unsub is a hitman or a heavy-duty arranger of some kind. And I want whoever hired him, are we clear? This case is not closed, or do I hafta go over your heads?"

Wyms agreed with an unhappy sigh, "No, it's not closed."

"So what were you guys doing when this shooter fell out of his tree?" asked Faith.

"Doing?"

"Yeah, where were you headed?"

"We were going back to a crime scene for follow-up. Why, don't you believe in coincidence?"

"Of course I don't, although I'm having a hard time seeing this as anything but."

"Hmm. Still, one odd thing, at the time we were looking for 'Gunny' Washington. He's called Gunny because he supplies guns to drug gangs. Or any 'gangstas' at all, I suppose."

Faith raised her eyebrows. "Guns, huh? You think he could supply something like this?" she asked, lifting up the sniper rifle.

"Well, we don't know for certain. Gunny is slippery – if it wasn't for those pesky things known as 'evidence' and 'trials', we'd have him in prison, but we just don't have any solid proof, although that may change with this case."

Faith picked up the case file on the Washington murder and started flipping through the pictures. She asked, "This the case you were workin' on?"

"Yeah, some kinda animal attack on Gunny Washington's mother. If she was murdered to send a message to Gunny, it was from someone with a very cold heart."

Faith continued flipping through the file. When she came to a closeup of the victim's neck, she barely managed to not visibly react. She thought to herself, _Fuck! __F__uckin' vampires! _She asked, "So, uh, what's the official cause of death?"

"Exsanguination. You can see the bite marks on her throat."

"You're certain she was bitten by something?"

"Yeah. We know what you're thinkin, but it's not worth the aggravation to say," his voice dropped to a soft whisper, "_vampire__._" His voice back to normal, he continued, "It's gotta be an animal attack. We just don't know what kind of animal yet."

"Okay, didja ever interview this 'Gunny' Washington?"

"No, we're gonna try again in the morning."

"Mind if I ride along?"

Dutch and Wyms glanced at each other. 'Yes', Faith could see in their expressions, they _would_ mind. But Wyms said out loud, "No no, not at all. Come back tomorrow before nine, and we'll go talk to him."

"Okay."

"Is there any coffee around here?"

"Yes, the breakroom's over there." Dutch pointed. Faith smiled at him at turned away.

A few minutes later Detective Wagenbach slipped into the breakroom where Faith was struggling with the coffee maker.

"Can I help you Detective?" she asked.

"Yeah, uh, about that, back there?"

Faith nodded.

"You see, Claudette is in disrepute with the DA's office because she wouldn't look the other way on an ADA who we caught chipping last year."

"Chipping?"

"Yeah, LA street slang for an occasional drug user. The trouble with chippers is that over time, they rarely stay 'occasional', so one day we saw that she was high while in court trying a case, and Claudette absolutely would not sweep it under the rug. It's put a bunch of old cases in jeopardy, and Claudette refuses to apologize because she's right but the DA is deeply angry with Claudette and wishes nothing less than to humiliate her. Since this affects me too, I made a little deal with them, and we're supposed to do them a couple of favors, and well, if we're not going to do one even favor, then the DA will sabotage our case – or continue to sabotage our cases. It took me a long time to find one where she would budge enough to look the other way, and now you've shot us down, but it might screw up this very case. Probably count on it, I'd say."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so."

Faith thought about it for a few moments, then asked, "So why does the District Attorney want to let this case slide?"

"I doubt it's anything underhanded, I think they just see a chance to put this in the win column without doing much work and this one is paired with another case about a marijuana dealer they'd like to put away. Anyway, the DA's office, like every department in this city, is seriously overextended and underfunded."

"Okay, let's work the case properly and let the DA do what they fucking want. Make sure all the paperwork is tight, if the DA doesn't work the case properly, I'll move it over to the United States Attorney. With a little luck, that'll embarrass the DA so much they may apologize to you, and you'll be back in clover."

"Either that, or the DA will complain so loudly to the Chief of Detectives that we'll end up transferred to the Trash and Garbage Regulation Detail."

Faith laughed, "That's always possible. But I have some pull, I think it'll work out."

"I certainly hope so."

* * *

That evening Vic and Lem parked their car in one of Farmington's slightly upscale but still crappy residential areas. They pulled their guns and stalked quietly down an alley. Finally, at a detached garage, Vic cat-footed to the side door and signaled Lem to cover him. He raised his foot and kicked the door in. "POLICE! POLICE! POLICE!" they both shouted as they rushed through, guns tracking back and forth for whatever might be a danger. "DOWN! DOWN! GET DOWN!" they shouted. But there was only one person in the garage, seated calmly at a workbench, working on a tiny object with a very fine brush. His only reaction was to place the doll-house secretary desk he was working on down on the bench. He deliberately put his brush in a glass jar, whisked it clean, and asked, "What the fuck you want Mackey? I ain't got time for this buuull-shit. An' why'd you hafta go an' kick my damn door in? Who's gonna fix it, huh? You? Don't make me laugh."

Vic put his gun away and smiled at Lem. He turned back and said, "That's just for the neighbors, keep your street cred up to date." Lem tried to put the door back in place, finally just jammed it into the frame. Vic gently picked up the tiny walnut desk and inspected it carefully. "Damn Theo, but you do good work. My daughter would love a dollhouse stocked with your shit." Mackey put the desk down and made a show of admiring Theo's toolbox of very small tools all neatly laid out in interlocking sliding trays.

"You can't afford my work, Mackey. Not with your _city_ paycheck anyways. Now why the fuck you here?"

"Yeah, look, whattya know about 'Gunny' Washington? Looks like wild animals killed his ma, was that nature runnin' its course here in the middle of Farmington? Or did someone lowlife shithead fix it up somehow?"

The CI snorted, "Hah! You wouldn't believe me if I tol' you."

"Try me! And don't you dare hold out on me or I'll pass the word that you're a rat."

"Thas whut I get for trustin' a fuckin' po-po. I'll tell you what I know, but not only will you not believe me, but you'll prolly fuck me up cuz your gonna think I'm fuckin' wit ya."

"Go ahead." Vic and Mackey found boxes to sit on.

"See, the thing is ole 'Gunny' got his ass in a sling wit' Antwon cuz a delivery got fucked up; some shit wasn't delivered as promised. Story on the street is Gunny tried to mend fences by giving Antwon a couple of crates of AK's but Antwon had his heart set on hand grenades so they had words and that shit Antwon didn't take it well so he sent..."

"Fuck! Wait, hold on! Hand grenades!? Are you fuckin' shittin' me?" said Vic, getting angry just thinking about Mitchell with hand grenades.

"It's no shit Mackey, I guess Antwon figures grenades would scare people pretty good, so he's really tryin' hard to git some."

Vic exchanged looks with Lemansky, then asked, "So who did Mitchel send?" asked Vic.

"You believe in vampires?"

"What? You mean Dracula and shit? Pull the other one!" said Lem.

"Well, I tol' ya you wouldn't believe me."

Vic said, "Don't be too quick to condemn the man, Lem. A couple times I seen some things I don't believe myself. Still, it's a far more complicated explanation than necessary to fit the facts, I mean, seriously, which is more likely in the middle of Farmington: vampires or coyotes?"

"I feel ya, but this time it's vampire. That fuckwad Antwon Mitchell has got himself some tame vampires that do his bidding. Don't know how, he just does."

"Do you think Antwon is a vampire?"

"No, not Antwon, just a couple of his soldiers, and I think, maybe, one of his daughters or sister or somethin'. And watch out for that big guy, too, the one thas big enough to be a mountain. He might not be completely human."

Lem shook his head and laughed. "Come on Vic, you don't believe this whack shit, do ya? Lil' fucker's sandbaggin' us."

"I don't want to, but like I said, over the years I have seen some things I can't easily explain..." He trailed off as if remembering something unpleasant, then continued, "So, if Antwon has a couple of vampires on his payroll, what's in it for them? I mean, _if_ this is for real, why would creatures of the night pay any attention to Antwon?"

"Beats the shit outta me, thas outta my league and no way am I gonna ask questions 'bout it. I'm jus' warning you."

"Okay. Here's twenty." He peeled two tens off a roll of bills and dropped them on the bench.

"Twenty! That ain't hardly enough for a decent cup of coffee! The fuck Vic! My door alone gonna cost mor'n that to fix! I'm your CI, I's sposed to git paid!"

"Not 'till we check this out. If your warning is on, then you'll get more, a whole lot more. But if it ain't, you'll owe me and Lem dinner."

"You're on!"

"Where we gonna find the walking mountain?" asked Lem.

"Try a warehouse over off Louis street and a hunnerd and six. It's red brick and the only building in ten blocks that ain't got broke windows and not much graffiti. It's one of Antwon's storage places, so you'll find a pile of good shit there, and I damn well want to get paid for lettin' you know!"

"If the raid succeeds, we'll take care of your bank account, trust me."

Theo frowned, "Yeah, I'm all about trustin' the fuckin' po-po these days. I wish to fuck I'd never got my ass in this fix."

"Them's the breaks Theo, you only got yourself to blame."

"Oh no, I gots _you_ to blame."

"It won't be long, if this is as big as you say, this could be the last time."

" 'Bout damn time, too."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_The Shield _and_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

in a crossover FanFiction

**Antwon's Fangs**

by LancerFourSeven

AKA STFarnham

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Vic was frankly worried as he oversaw the raid on the warehouse. He exhibited nothing but confidence on the outside – the info was probably good, but wasn't a hundred per cent and his rep was on the line these days.

The LAPD SWAT team, backed by several carloads of uniformed cops, quietly surrounded the warehouse, making certain all exits were covered. At the Captain's signal, SWAT crashed through doors on all four sides simultaneously, with a lieutenant on a loudspeaker yelling, "POLICE! POLICE! POLICE! DOWN ON THE FLOOR!" over and over until everyone inside was lying on the floor. Vic, the other detectives, and uniformed officers started searching for hiding places and checking out closed doors. Vic casually opened an office door, but was shocked when an incredibly large individual roared out with the impetus of a freight train. He was at least four hundred pounds of muscle on a seven foot frame, with a bushy red beard and a bald skull sporting some strange tattoos. His fierceness was palpable, Vic stumbled backwards in fear, yanking at his gun, yelling, "DOWN DOWN DOWN YOU MUTHERFUCKER!" Vic could see some of the others pulling guns and had enough presence of mind to yell, "DON'T SHOOT, HE'S UNARMED!" About twenty cops pulled their nightsticks and leaped on top of the rushing perp. All Captain Rawlings could see was a pile of blue with their black sticks rising up and down. She thought about ordering them to stop, but she thought better of that when the perpetrator managed to throw off a half-dozen officers. Still, it was about four thousand pounds of cops versus four hundred pounds of perp, eventually he settled down, unconscious, and incredibly, thought Rawlings, still alive. She supervised as they handcuffed the man with double cuffs and manacles. He didn't even appear badly injured, she thought it was lucky they hadn't filled him full of bullets.

After that excitement, they went back to searching, and finally someone found about two hundred kilos of nearly pure black tar heroine, much to Vic's relief. He would have been in the doghouse without that. And even better, Vic found two plastic wrapped kilos all alone in a back room, he quickly hid them in the ceiling, without mentioning them to anyone.

Hours and hours later, well after dawn, they finally dragged the walking mountain back to the station, where he started groaning and came to, and not so surprising, was still angry, angry enough to bust his handcuffs and start tossing cops around in the station.

* * *

Faith came into the Barn to get her ride-along with detectives Wagenbach and Wyms. As she entered, she couldn't help but notice a huge commotion on the other side of the glass security door. The desk sergeant was too busy trying to restore order to notice her waiting to be buzzed in, and there was a pile of at least a dozen cops on top of somebody, with most of the cops slamming an unseen perp with their night sticks. Faith's eyebrows shot up when she observed what was nearly an explosion of people: the perp on the floor somehow heaved up with superhuman effort and cops went flying every which way.

Faith thought, _'Damn, that is one huge dude!' _

As she watched, he ran towards the entrance, looking like a charging rhinoceros from Faith's viewpoint. He bowled over more cops, tossed waiting room chairs this way and that, and burst furiously through the 'unbreakable' security glass. Faith was aware of Vic and a few other cops behind her frantically shouting at her to move so they could get a clear shot, but she stood her ground. The perp was preparing to charge right through her when she moved to her left at slayer speed, hooking her foot around the huge man's ankle and grasping his right wrist with her right hand. Now he tripped forward from his feet while being held back by his hand, which made him completely out of balance. Faith twisted around, pulling the perp's arm with her, her legs angled and braced against a door frame to give her leverage. He twisted, stopped, and fell to the floor face first. It sounded just like you'd expect more than four hundred pounds of fresh meat hitting the floor to sound. He wasn't knocked out, but he was groggy enough not to offer much resistance as Faith twisted his arms behind his back and handcuffed him in seconds. She stood to face the crowd of cops rushing at her from both directions.

"Holy fucking shit!" said Vic.

"Damn girl," said Dannie, "you could teach our unarmed combat class – that was as good as Kennedy."

"Who do you think taught Kennedy?" She put her knee into the perp's back and said, "Hand me some more cuffs, he broke the last set you had him in."

* * *

The ride-along was postponed until the next day, so Faith went back to the hospital to check-in with Buffy and Willow. She found Kennedy's room (she was out of the ICU by now) and said to Buffy, "The plot thickens. Someone out there really wanted Kennedy dead. She was shot from a block away with a very expensive military sniper rifle..."

"Military?" said Buffy. "Someone's starting up the Initiative and wants us out of the way?"

"I don't think so. They used a cut-out, a long time alcoholic homeless man."

Willow frowned and said, "How does that work? Alkies can't shoot straight, can they? Don't they tremble too much?"

"Apparently this guy was ex-army, and he didn't have to shoot from very far, just a short block or so, which is nothing for a rifle as good as the one they got. And luckily for Kenn, he missed his shot – he was probably trying for a center head shot but he only winged the side of her skull; slayer or not, that's why she's alive. They also had a backup, but he was trying to stay in the background and managed to get himself arrested when a couple of detectives, purely by luck, happened to be right on the scene as he tried to clean things up."

"But who would want to go to this much trouble to assassinate Kennedy?" Willow asked, shuddering a little.

"Good question. Buffy, you want come with me and do a little investigating?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure. You okay staying here, right Willow?"

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead. Call me if you need anything."

* * *

Buffy and Faith walked out to the car. Buffy asked, "So, do you have a, what-do-you-call-it, a lead?"

"A couple of ideas. How 'bout you?"

"Well, I did get a message to see someone named Riley about a demon."

"Riley? Your old boyfriend? The Army guy?"

"Since the message was _from_ Riley, I think this is a different one. Anyway, here's the address."

They drove off, eventually ending up in front of a small but well-kept Spanish Revival house in a solidly middle-class neighborhood. Buffy knocked, a woman answered. "Uh, does a 'Riley' live here?"

"Yep, that's me, Lauren Riley. What can I do for you?"

"The message said something about a demon."

Riley suddenly froze, just for a moment. Her expression shuttered down. She asked, "Who sent you?"

"Someone you know. Riley Finn."

"Oh yeah, he sent you? You two are some kinda super-powered hunters?" Lauren didn't seem impressed with either Buffy or Faith.

"Yeah, you could say that. So what's the scoop?"

"Who are you guys?"

"I'm Buffy Summers of the ISWC."

"And I'm Special Agent Faith Lehane, DCIS, on loan to the Justice Department."

"Oh, I see. Er, what's the ISWC?"

"Sorry, it's a need-to-know basis only. All you need to know is it's an organization that is tasked to deal with things that go bump-in-the-night."

"There's an organization for that?"

"Yep, an international NGO, even."

"Okaaay." She paused, then finally continued when neither Faith nor Buffy appeared ready to explain further. "Well, I was out hunting for bodies with my dog..."

"Hunting for _bodies_? What the fuck is that about?" asked Faith.

"What she said," said Buffy.

"I'm under contract with the City of Los Angeles. I have a cadaver dog, Rover. When the cops suspect buried victims, they call me and Rover and I look for them. Well, Rover does the looking, I just drive him around."

"Oh, no one briefed me on this, go ahead then."

"So anyway, I got caught up peripherally with Riley's little group of hunters a couple of years ago. It scared the ever-lovin' shit outta me, but after the weirdness got straightened out I thought about adding to Rover's repertoire. With the help of Riley's group, I trained Rover to give me an 'off' signal when he detects a demon, buried or not, dead, undead or alive."

"How does that work?"

"When he detects a human corpse, he barks once and sits down to wait. I flag the spot and signal him to continue. But if it's something demonic, he barks once and takes a leak, then continues hunting without any other signal. That way other cops assume there's nothing there, and I just have to remember the general area and call Finn later on."

"Okay, that makes sense, you wouldn't want the local constabulary to dig up demons, would you?" said Buffy.

Faith looked at Buffy oddly for her choice of words. " 'Constabulary?' "

"Yeah, I've spent a lot of time in England, so sue me," said Buffy. "So Rover found a buried demon, let's go dig it up."

"Now? It's late, it'll be dark by the time we're done."

"Rover don't care, does he? And we don't care neither."

"Yeah, but I'm kinda jittery at night these days, ever since that thing..."

Buffy and Faith smiled at her. "That's a good thing to be, but we ain't got time to sit around and braid each others hair till dawn. Let's get Rover and go."

Lauren sighed, "Okay, but if this ends badly I'm gonna haunt you guys. We'll take my car."

"I'll follow you."

"Does your car have four wheel drive?"

"No, it's a rented Taurus."

"Then we'd better take mine."

* * *

Riley drove out past the Farmington city limits and turned on a dirt road in the shadow of the highway. She studied the landscape carefully and found the track with the police tape across it. She stopped and shifted into 4WD low range, and carefully negotiated the crude road down the side of the old abandoned warehouse. She turned into the field, away from the building, and finally parked near an area with several recently dug holes.

"Okay, this is the place. Now we just have to find the 'off' hole."

Riley let Rover out and said, "Find!" The dog took off like an arrow and went straight to the place he'd marked the last time. He woofed once and lifted his leg.

"Rover! Stop!" commanded Lauren. "The dog piss marks the spot, I guess it's up to us to dig."

An hour or so later Riley was watching Buffy and Faith shovel dirt lit only by the headlights from her Jeep Cherokee. She was completely wiped out by digging, and was sitting on the dirtpile with her dog, both drinking water. She was astonished at both Faith and especially Buffy's energy and ability to keep shoveling dirt without even slowing down.

Suddenly, Faith felt the tip of her shovel hit something soft. They both stopped and brushed away dirt to find:

"Clem? Somebody murdered Clem?" exclaimed Buffy.

But the demon's eyes popped opened, shocking Lauren to her feet.

"H, h, human eyes don't do that," she said shakily, pointing at the demon's eyes glowing with reflected light from the headlights.

"True, he's a demon, but B and I already knew that."

"Hey, I'm not dead," said the demon as he started to sit up.

Faith grabbed him by the neck and said, "Don't go fuckin' with us now!"

Buffy shook her head. "Clem's all right, he won't try to eat us, will you?"

Faith backed off so the demon could stand. He shook the dirt off him like a dog shaking water. All three climbed out of the grave. Rover stood up and barked furiously, his fur standing up along his back.

Buffy said, "Can you control Rover? Clem here's okay for a demon. Come to think of it, he and Rover ought to get along fine, they both hate cats."

"Rover doesn't hate cats!" said Lauren.

"Hey, I don't hate cats, either! I love 'em! Especially barbecued and served with good sauce," said the demon, closing his eyes blissfully.

"How come he was buried if he's not dead?" asked Lauren.

"Look," said the demon, "when some scary gang-banger shoots me, I play dead, okay? If I didn't, they might find a way to _really_ kill me, and I just know I'd hate that."

"So Clem, how'd you get shot?"

"First of all, I'm not Clem, I'm Melc, Clem's twin sister."

"Sister? Funny, you don't look like a girl."

"Our kind don't, we have different sex characteristics, I'd show you but I'm shy. Anyway, I was forced into this gang, run by that shit Antwon Mitchell. His sister got herself turned into a vampire, and somehow Antwon snagged on the idea of an undead squad of frighteners for his collections department. So he volunteered a couple of his men – I think drugs were involved – to get vamped by his sis, and tried to recruit some demons. I was all he could find in that department – the only other demons in Farmington being fast enough to stay clear of him. The only problem was that I didn't come up to his expectation of ferocity, one day he wanted me to torture a rival dealer and I wouldn't so he shot me and had his hit-couple bury me. I was buried too deep to dig myself out, and without air I couldn't do much but lie and wait."

"Wait for what?" wondered Buffy.

"Oh, you know, for the soil to wash away, or an animal to dig me out, or something. Hey, thanks for digging me up, it was getting kind of boring down there."

"You're welcome. Thank Rover here for marking your location."

Melc sniffed the air. "Yeah," he said, "thanks for pissing on my grave, Rover. You're lucky you're not a cat."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

_The Shield _and_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

in a crossover FanFiction

**Antwon's Fangs**

by

Lancer47

aka LancerFourSeven

& aka STFarnham

_A/N: There are some remarks that reference scenes that were in Season 4 of _The Shield _that are not detailed here. I'd rather not rehash the entire season and so I have assumed that most people reading this story have at least seen the show. If anything gets too puzzling, let me know, I can always explain further._

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

The ride back to Riley's house was quiet for the first few miles. Riley kept looking nervously over her shoulder at Melc, who rode quietly in the back seat, next to Buffy. Rover, in the back behind a wire screen, spent the whole trip standing on his feet, his fur ruffled, staring at Melc, growling continuously with an occasional 'woof' thrown in for punctuation. He was a very upset dog.

"You can let me off anywhere," Melc said, looking nervously at Rover, "really, this is fine, you don't have to go out of your way for me, I'm feeling a bit peckish, so right along here, maybe near that alley entrance..."

Faith turned and said, "Shut it. We're gonna have a debriefing first."

"But I don't wear briefs!" Melc wailed pitifully.

"Not that kind of debriefing, doofus, a talk. We're gonna sit down in an interview room and talk about your experience with Antwon Mitchell: everything you can remember he said, everything he had you do, everything he wanted you to do... Do I have to go on? We want everything you know about Antwon and his merry men."

"Oh, I don't know about any of that," said Melc, "my memory is kinda shot. I think I have may have mad demon disease."

Buffy frowned and asked, "What the heck is that?"

"Well, it's kinda like mad cow disease, except exclusive to demons, my kind of demon at that."

Faith said, "You know what I think? I think you're trying to weasel out of paying us back for rescuing you from your grave. Our price isn't very high, you don't have to pay us in kittens, or money, or very much time. We don't need you to do anything you'd find intolerable or disgusting, we don't want you to go back down in a hole and be covered in dirt. All we want from you, is talk. That's all."

"Yeah, but if Antwon hears about it, he'll send his hit couple back after me. And I gotta tell you, that Peas and 8-Ball scare the everlovin' spleen outta me, and I don't know if I even _have_ a spleen."

Faith grinned at him. "Well hell, if that's all that's bothering you, I got good news. Peas and 8-Ball were killed a few weeks ago. In fact, their bodies were found in the same field we just came from, not more'n fifty feet from your grave. The big difference bein' they ain't comin' back from the dead, seein' as they started to rot."

Melc was amazed, her jaw dropped, her eyes got big, her hands shook and she spread her fingers and claws and waved them around aimlessly. "Seriously!? You wouldn't be trying to kid me, would you?" she was almost pleading.

"Seriously, I kid you not," said Faith. "I've read the reports. The identity of their bodies has been confirmed. One was stabbed with a big fuckin' knife and the other was shot with his own gun, although we don't know who killed them, yet."

Melc sat back and let out a huge breath of air. She dabbed at her eyes. "You don't know how much this means to me! I feel like I can relax for the first time in months. Those two, well, they weren't demons and I would have known, but they sure acted like demons. They had a bigger body count than all but the most ferocious beasts from hell. Terrifying they were."

"So," said Buffy, "you can tell us about Antwon now?"

"Well, he's still alive, right?"

"Yeah," said Faith, "but with your help, maybe he won't be free much longer. In fact, even without your help I suspect he's going back to prison sooner or later. But with your help, it'll be sooner. And you don't have to worry about testifying. With your, uh, unusual looks, I doubt the DA will want to see you in court – although it sure might be entertaining to watch a jury listening to you. But we do need you to talk to the cops."

"Are you sure? Cuz I don't like cops, I really don't."

"Whatta ya think B? Can we pass him off as the victim of a horrible skin disease?"

"Hmmm. I'd rather not try."

"The other solution is make him a C.I."

"See eye? What's that mean?" Melc wondered.

"C.I., as in Confidential Informant. We can register you with the department and even get you paid a little."

"Oh, will they pay me in kittens?"

"No, just greenbacks."

"Oh, well I guess that'll have to do. Sure, sign me up."

* * *

Vic Mackey slumped down on the old couch in the 'clubhouse' at the 'Barn'. A few minutes later Curtis Lemansky and Ron Gardarki came in and sat at the table.

"What's up boss? You know I can't be here officially right now."

"Yeah, yeah, the captain wants you here, she'll square it with your boss. Look guys, I got a line on two kilos of black tar, prime, uncut. But I don't know what we'd do with 'em right now. Ideas?"

"Jesus!" said Curtis looking around wildly, "You swept the clubhouse?"

"Of course I swept it! Just a few minutes ago, what the hell, ya think I gotta suicide wish?"

"Okay, okay," said Curtis, still nervous. "Just makin' sure. As far as the tar goes, I got nothing, I don't need that shit for anything right now."

Ron shrugged. "I don't have any plans for running any dealers these days."

Mackey said, "Yeah, me neither, but I sure could use the cash."

"What, you need to buy a yacht?"

"Fuck no, but I got a family to take of, and it costs more when we ain't livin' under the same roof."

"Yeah, I can see that. But I think you're on your own for this one. My new department is a tight shop."

Ron said, "I don't think we need to get into this shit, not right now."

"I can let the stuff sit where it is, but there's people in jail who know about it. I can let it lie fallow, but only if I can move it to a safe place."

"When?"

"Three nights from now. The place is still being watched."

"Watched! By who?"

"The rest of the department. The stuff's at the place we raided yesterday."

"Damn, I thought you found two hundred kilos. Ain't it all in evidence?"

"Well, there was two hundred and two kilos at the scene, but I guess it got rounded off in all the excitement."

"So whattaya wanna do with it?"

"Not sure. Bury it somewhere, I guess."

"Not bad, but I don't think I can help, Vic. It's just too squirrely around me right now."

Ron said, "I'll help if I can, but three days from now I have a bust goin' down. Should be over by five, but you know how these things go."

"Yeah, yeah, don't expect you 'fore midnight. Okay, I'll figure something out."

* * *

Antwon stormed around his warehouse, his people eyed him nervously. They knew very well that he was capable of murdering people for no reason other than being pissed off. "What the FUCK is going on around here! My warehouse got held up by the fuckin' po-po! How'd they know? Who leaked? Two hundred good pounds down the fuckin' drain! This ain't acceptable, do you think I got this shit insured?"

"And Peas and 8-Ball are dead? Who? Who's the mutherfucker responsible for this, this, outrage! I want you to find him! Find the mutherfucking cocksucker who did this! I will torture them myself!

"And Delia! What the fuck happened to our vamps? And our assassins? What the hell, I send all these fuckers to kill one girl, one fucking chick, a dimwit cunt, a fucking thief too dumb to pick easy victims, and they's all dead! Every fuckin' one of them!"

"Ah," said one brave underling, "Conrad is still alive."

"And that's another fucking thing! We's gonna haveta get him, in fucking solitary or not, he has to be permanently shut!"

"Ah, Antwon, all our snitches say his jaws so tight shut they checked him for lockjaw. He old school, he won't say a thing."

"I CAN'T FUCKING TAKE THAT CHANCE! I want him dead!"

"If you kill Conrad, you'll lose a lotta your own people; ol' Connie's tight, he won't never say a word to the cops."

Antwon swung a fist at the wall. At the last moment he stopped short, even in his anger realizing that punching a concrete wall would be the height of stupidity. He stopped moving, stood still, let his breathing return to normal. After a minute he turned around and walked calmly over to his Barca-Lounger and sat down.

"Beer."

Someone brought him a cold one.

"Aw-right, we gotta plan. What's been the common thing about trying to kill this fucking girl, hell I can't believe she's still alive, anyone heard her prog?"

"Yeah, she gettin' better, supposed to be a full recovery in a matter of weeks."

"The fuck!? She got hit in the head with a fuckin' .338! How the _hell_ she survive that?!"

"Apparently the bullet entered along _side_ of her head and it didn't even break her skull; fuckin' alky couldn't shoot straight even with a six-thousand dollar rifle."

"Shit on my father's grave! Why the hell did Conrad hire that shaky mutherfucker?"

"He looked like a good cutout. After all, he useta be army, a sniper."

"Yeah, ten fuckin' years and a couple hunnerd barrels of cheap whiskey ago. Even my dead sista coulda hit her dead-on with that rifle!"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Yeah, yeah, I thought so too," said Antwon. "Okay, how about the two vamps you sent, Delia?"

Delia stalked over. "You sure you wanna hear from your _dead_ sister? Or am I too incompetent?"

"Jesus Christ, Delia, ya know I didn't mean anything by that! It was just a, a, some sort of a metaphor! That's what it was, a metaphor!"

Delia growled softly enough so that only Antwon could hear her. Antwon didn't piss his pants, but he suddenly uncomfortably aware of the beer he just slammed down. He didn't feel confident enough to pat his pockets to check on his holy water, cross and stakes, not with Delia staring at him with that death glare of hers.

"Delia, please, the business at hand. What happened to the two vamps you sent to kill that Kennedy chick?"

"Word on the street is they was dusted by a Slayer."

"What's a slayer? The Fuckin' LA Slayers think they can fuckin' move in on my territory! What the hell, we'll kill them fuckers!"

"No, no, brother dear. Not the gang. _Vampire_ Slayers. Mystical creatures whose sole reason for existence is to kill my kind. Mostly there's been only one at a time, when the Slayer dies, the next one is called. I thought they were just tales, you know, stories that demon mamas can tell their little demons to keep them in line."

"Thas fucking ridiculous! You're tellin' me fairytales?!"

"Recently I found out it ain't no fairytale. Slayers are real. And worse, it looks like there's more than one these days. But no vamp I know of has seen 'em and lived to tell about it. We don't know what this creature looks like. And anyways, it just be rumor one's here. It's the only explanation I know of, though. I mean, otherwise it mean that this little lezzie done defeated two vamps and three-and-a-half stone-cold killers."

Antwon looked startled for a moment. Then he said, "Nah, that's too stupid for words, after she just a girl."

Delia said softly, the menace clear in every word, "_I'm_ just a girl."

"But you're also a vampire, a creature of the night. That do make a difference, Delia."

"You're sayin' before I was sired, I was nuthin'? Just some cunt?!"

"No, no, of course not. You made your bones, hell, you an important member of this organization, before _and_ after!" Antwon tried not to allow his worry show. He was thinking more than ever that maybe he didn't really need Delia around much longer, he'd sure feel safer without her hanging around. And after all, she wasn't his sister anymore, no matter what she looked like, his sister was dead. She just needed to be buried.

One of his lieutenants, either bolder or stupider than the others, said, "Peas was a girl."

"And look what fuckin' happened to her!" Antwon shook his head. "Alright, everyone settle the fuck down. We gots to figure out what to do next."

"That girl, Kennedy, she gots friends."

"Yeah?" Antwon said, with interest. "What kinda friends?"

"She got a rug-muncher partner. Girl spending day and night by Kennedy's side, sniffling and shit. We pick her up, maybe effect a trade."

"That might work. Now you've checked her out, right? She ain't some mutherfuckin' Ninja or some shit, right?" said Antwon.

"Nah, she just a wet chick, cryin' all the time. A rich nerd. She got money, couldn't possibly understand the real world. Works in London, in some corp most of the time."

"Okay. Who else?"

"Besides the redhead, there's a short blonde, cheerleader type, good looking, probably the receptionist. She also works in London. Some sort of antique dealers, nothin' special. But the other one, she might be a bit of problem. She some sort of Federal Agent, works outta the Pentagon for something called DCIS."

"What the fuck is that?"

"I dunno, somethin' to do with the military."

"She carry a gun?"'

"Yeah, she's an agent aw-right, a Fed, I jus' doan know what kind."

"Yeah, let's not fuck with the Feds. Go after the easy target, the redhead dyke."

* * *

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

_The Shield _and_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

in a crossover FanFiction

**Antwon's Fangs**

by

Lancer47

aka LancerFourSeven

& aka STFarnham

**Chapter Eight**

Vic Mackey decided not to wait. He drove up to the crime scene that evening, parked next to the crime lab truck and waved at the uniform standing guard, and walked in as if he had every right to be there. It was easy since he really _did_ have every right to be there. Of course, he didn't have the right to do what he was planning to do, not officially anyway. _B__ut fuck it,_ _I've done enough good, put enough bad guys away to take a few shortcuts in exchange __for a little something extra for myself_, he thought.

He watched as two lab techs patiently searched the floor, occasionally bagging some tiny piece of evidence. He looked around and noticed two other techs at the other end of the space.

He cleared his throat, waited for one of the techs to notice him, and asked, "Okay if look around in the back? I need some inspiration for where to look next."

The tech shrugged, "Yeah, we're done with the offices, just stay between the taped lines while you're in the warehouse. Oh, and we haven't processed the storage room in back, yet, so don't go in there."

"Okay. You find anything interesting in the office?"

"Maybe, only the lab work will tell. No smoking guns, if that's what you mean."

He wandered towards the office area, making certain he didn't look purposeful – he was trying hard to look like he was at loose ends, looking for a loose thread in his case.

Once in the office and out of sight of the techs, he stepped quickly through to the short corridor that led to a previously locked storage room. He looked up and down the corridors and saw no one, so he stepped into the room, snapping on gloves as he went. Without stopping or slowing, he went to the corner, picked up the single chair in the room, and placed it in the opposite corner. He stood on it and reached up, pushing a ceiling tile aside, and felt around on top of a couple of braces. Ah! He thought in satisfaction, they're still here. He glanced down again, and listened for a moment to make sure he was still alone, then pulled two plastic wrapped kilo packages out. Taking a moment to put the ceiling tile back, and the chair, he pulled out a paper grocery sack to hide his contraband. He put it down on the shelf closest to the door and looked out again, then grabbed it and went back to the cleared offices and found the breakroom. He looked around for a good hiding place: drawers? No; Microwave? No, coffee maker? Too small. Copy machine? Maybe. He looked in the cabinets next to the copier, ah hah! That'll work. Wait, someone was coming – he dropped the sack in a wastebasket and sat down at the table and stared, as if contemplating the case.

"Hey Vic," said a tech, "you got any ideas yet?"

"No, ah, Joe, just a glimmering or two."

Joe was surprised and gratified that Vic Mackey had remembered his name. "Okay, we're clearing out now, there's only so much overtime we can get. There's a uniform out front, he'll lock up when you leave."

"Thanks." Vic nodded.

After a few minutes he grabbed his sack and opened the supply cabinet next to the copier and made his preparations. It took him fifteen minutes, then he left, empty handed, waving goodbye to the cop out front.

* * *

As Faith walked through the barn, she overheard a conversation between the Captain, Vic, and a couple of other cops she didn't know. They had a young girl with them, named Angie, and she heard them say the girls mother was found dead. Apparently Angie was a source for information on Antwon Mitchel, so they were going to protect her, take her to a safe foster home. The girl didn't seem to be taken with the idea.

Faith didn't let on that she had overheard any of that, she was far enough away that it would have been impossible for ordinary people to hear, so she just filed away the information, figuring she'd look up Angie later on and find out what the hell was going around here.

She finally hooked up with detectives Wagenbach and Wym's for her ride along. They went out to their departmental car, a real junker, Faith thought but didn't say out loud. She rode in the back, watching the neighborhood roll by. No one felt like talking much, so it was a quiet ride except when Faith asked questions.

"So who are going to talk to again?"

"Dewayne Washington, otherwise known as 'Gunny', we believe."

"Ah." Faith watched the scenery some more. She finally said, "So Farmington's gang problem is pretty severe?"

Dutch answered, "Yes, that's we have the gang strike force to deal with it."

"And how's that working out?"

Wym's frowned and shook her head in irritation. She said, "It works about as well as the people in it."

"What does that mean?"

But Wyms didn't have anything else to say. Wagenbach said, "There've been some problems."

Faith saw that they didn't want to talk about it, apparently they didn't want to air the departments dirty laundry to a Federal Agent, so she went back to staring out the window. She imagined trying to explain that she wasn't _really_ a Federal Agent to a pair of cops, even though her credentials would check out. She decided that wasn't a good idea.

Eventually they pulled up to an unkempt house. It was two stories on a hill that ran down from the road, making it three stories in back. There was a sagging and rusty chain link fence around the property which was full of rusting cars and junk, much like the adjacent properties. The fence didn't really look like it would stand up under a light rain, much less a serious wind storm.

The house wasn't much better.

"If he's making any money off his arms sales, he's hiding it well," observed Faith.

"First lessen in Crime 101, Farmington style," said Dutch as they walked up to the door, "don't look rich unless you have people with guns to back you up."

Wyms knocked, someone inside yelled, "Whoever the fucks out there, I doan fucking want any!"

Wyms yelled back, "Police! We just have a few questions."

"Fuckin po-po?"

"No, we are the police!" Wyms pronounced it carefully.

Faith was listening carefully for anything that sounded like a weapon. She didn't think any part of the wall, much less the door, would stop so much as a B-B pellet, much less a 9mm or a shotgun, so she was ready for anything. What she heard was some stumbling, a few minor crashes followed by some uncreative cursing. Then footsteps coming nearer. Finally, a bleary-eyed man, wearing last's week's dirty laundry and smelling like it, opened the door and stared balefully at them.

"What the fuck do ya want now?" There wasn't any passion in his voice, he sounded very tired and maybe a little drunk.

"May we come in?" Wyms asked politely. "We just want to go over what we know on your mothers case." She was being much politer than she usually was when questioning potential suspects, especially people suspected of selling illegal guns. Faith supposed it was because of the victim being his mother and the horrible way she died.

He turned around without closing the door. Faith and the detectives followed. Faith wondered if the lack of invitation was significant. If Dewayne knew about vampires, that opened up a whole new line of questioning. Not that she could follow up with the detectives around.

Dewayne showed them a couch, "Have a seat."

Wyms curled her lip as looked at the couch, stacked high with random debris. Dirt was actually encrusted on parts of the fabric. "No," said Wyms, "I'd rather stand, but feel free to take a seat, Agent Lehane."

Faith smiled at Claudette and stayed standing. Other than the fact that a commercial maid service was desperately needed in the house, the interior was much nicer than the exterior. Faith decided that Dutch was right, the mess outside must be camouflage.

"So Mr. Washington, do you have any idea what happened to your mother?"

He looked down and shook his head 'no'. "Nah, some wild animal, I guess."

"And that's all you have?"

"Yeah."

Faith, "Say, if I wanted to buy an Arctic Warfare Sniper rifle, customized all to shit, could you help me out?"

Dewayne looked aghast for moment, then he got his expression back under control. "Why would you ax me something like that?" he shouted, "I gots nuthin' to do with guns."

"Oh, my mistake."

"I want all of you out, get gone!"

Wyms and Wagenbach exchanged glances and shrugged.

"We'll see you later Mr. Washington."

Once they were back in the car, Dutch said, "That was surprisingly instructive."

"But it doesn't do us much good," said Wyms.

Faith said, "Tells you what to investigate, though."

* * *

Around ten, Dewayne, sacked out on his lounger, thought he heard a noise. He started to get up when the lights came on. "What the hell?!" he exclaimed. Then he noticed a woman sitting on one of his dining room chairs, staring at him.

"W, what do you want?" He finally recognized her as one of the cops that had visited him that morning, the one that asked him about the rifle. _How the hell could she have known to ask him about that?_ he wondered, _it should have been impossible._

"I want to know why you specifically didn't issue a verbal invitation for us to enter your house."

_Oh shit shit shit!_ he thought.

"Did anyone ever mention to you that you have an amazingly expressive face for a gun-runner?" She paused. "Anyway, I gather you do know about vampires. And this time I want an answer."

"Uh, ah, they ain't no such thing as vampires, you know that, right?"

"Oh, I dunno 'bout that."

Dewayne put his head in his hands and groaned. "Okay, so you know about vamps." He looked up, becoming a little belligerent, "So what?"

"Well that suggests that you know about Antwon Mitchell's vampires. And that makes me think you know very well what, and on who's orders, killed your mother."

Faith wasn't too surprised when Dewayne broke down and cried. She got up and looked around for some tissues, but couldn't find any, so she sat down and waited impatiently. She hated it when people started crying around her.

After a while, Dewayne wiped his face on his dirty sleeves, and said, "Antwon didn't have no call to sick his vamps on my family, it wasn't like I dissed him on purpose. My supplier just didn't come through when he thought he could. It was just a delay! I mean what the fucks wrong with him?!"

"So are you going to get him what he wants now?"

"What do you think? I have a daughter in junior high, course I am."

"Wouldn't it make more sense to kill Antwon?"

"Sure, but how do I do that? I don't have no killers on staff. I know a lot about guns, but I don't how to kill Antwon Mitchell. I've tried to learn everything there is to learn about shooting, but I never killed nobody. Still, I think your idea is a good one, if I could just get close to Antwon, and if he didn't have people with guns around him most of the time, then I might be able to..."

"Hmm," said Faith, "interesting. Well, I don't give a damn about guns, just vamps. I can tell you this, by the time I leave Farmington, the vampires who did your mom will be dust."

"How can you promise that?"

"Don't worry about how, just know that I mean it." Faith got up and left.

Dewayne wasn't much cheered as he turned out the lights and stumbled into bed.

* * *

Around midnight, Dewayne heard a noise in his backyard. He looked out the window, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He flipped on his floodlights, they were bright enough to light every shadow. He still saw nothing. So he put on a coat and shoes and went downstairs, grabbed a 12-gauge smooth-bore handgun* and went out the backdoor. He stood on his back porch and studied the yard, including the neighbors yard. He didn't notice the loop of light chain flung into the air behind him until it fell around his neck and tightened. He reflexively aimed his gun behind him and fired it wildly, not hitting anything but his house, but before he could fire again it was yanked out of his hand, he himself was yanked off the porch onto the bare dirt of his yard. Someone kneeled on his back while pulling on the chain around his neck.

A disguised voice said gruffly, "Tell me about your fucking hand grenades."

He made some choking noises and flailed at the chain. The pressure eased until he could talk. "I told you fucking po-po everything this afternoon!"

The voice, now down by his right ear, whispered roughly, "That wasn't me asshole! I want to know about your hand grenades."

"I don't know nuthin' about no, URK!" The chain choked up, then released. "NO, NO...URK!" Choking. "I COULDN'T GET THEM ANTWON! NOT YET! NEXT WEEK!" Suddenly the chain was released, the weight was off his back, and there were footsteps heading up the side of his house. A full minute passed before he felt safe enough to get to his feet, search around for his gun, and rush back into the comparative safety of his house.

* * *

Vic got into his truck. He turned to his Lem and said, "Yep, Antwon was trying to get some hand grenades from good ol' Gunny."

"Yeah, we need to stop that one."

"What do we do? Shall we 'disappear' him, take him out to a deserted house and work on him until he gives it all up?"

Lem looked ill. "No, let's not, the information we have is enough. If all else fails, maybe an anonymous call to 9-1-1."

"But how will we know if he actually gets the grenades?"

"I've still got that surveillance camera, you know, the one that got 'lost' from our garage surveillance case."

"Okay, but someone has to monitor it continuously, and there's only three of us."

"Not likely, I know, we'll ask that Federal Agent to join us."

Vic looked incredulous, then he noticed the little grin playing around Lem's mouth. They both broke out laughing together.

"Hey," said Vic after they stopped laughing, "you know that girl, Kennedy? The one that got shot the other day?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I met her, and I kinda liked her, I mean she really took me down hard – but you know me, I like tough women. Anyway, she was shot just outside of one of Antwon's stash houses, so I was thinkin' of making a little visit later today, see what we can find out."

"It's not our case."

"I'll share with Wyms, what the hell, it's all good when I get her to owe me one. Besides, we may find out something else on Antwon."

"Good point, maybe we can keep our idiot brother Shane out of trouble."

* * *

At that moment Shane and Armando were in a heated discussion with Antwon Mitchell and his lieutenants.

"Look homie," said Shane, "I was in a double blind, I wasn't in on the planning of the raid on your distribution center, I didn't even know it was going down until minutes before I was ordered into the takedown crew and operational security didn't allow the use of cell phones, and I still don't even know where the intelligence came from. And you, you keep your shit from me! How am I spose'd to protect your interests when you don't tell me anything? If I don't know what to protect, then I can't do nothin' about it."

Antwon looked at his right hand man, "Fuck him up."

Shane and Army were attacked and disarmed by four of Antwon's thugs, they were thrown on the floor and punched and kicked. Antwon got in a few kicks until he kneeled next to Shane, grabbed his jaw in a painful grip with his beefy right hand, and said, "Listen to me, I ain't yer 'homie', not now, not ever."

"You can't kill us! You'll bring down the whole department on you!" Shane said desperately.

"Don't have ta. Bring her in."

Shane and Travon were horrified to see two men drag in Angie, the fourteen year old informant they saw back at the Barn.

"This the little ho that gave up my block," said Antwon, caressing her head, none too gently. He walked over and picked up the cop's guns and said, "Here's what happened. Angie's missin', you two found her on the streets. She gave you oral testimony, then you argued, then you shot her."

Antwon casually shot Angie twice with Shane's gun, then twice more with Army's gun. He pressed the releases and let the clips slam to the floor, he tossed the guns after them.

Shane yelled, "NO!"

"If Angie's body should happen to show up anywhere, the bullets will be traced to your gats, and you'll get life in Lompoc. _ I_ control Lompoc, I guarantee your life there will be painful. If you don't want life in prison, then from now on, you work for me."

Antwon stared coldly at Shane, shivering in terror on the floor, and said, "If I say 'suck my cock', you say, 'Do you want me to lick your balls, daddy?' "

**TBC**

* * *

_A/N: That last scene is, of course, taken directly from the final scene in episode 4:05, "Tar Baby". I found Anthony Anderson's depiction of Antwon Mitchell truly chilling._

_I spent the weekend re-watching much of Season 4, and as a result I threw out my ending for this story. So there will be a slight delay while I plot some new chapters._

Footnotes:

_*Short barreled shotguns (SBS) – barrel less than 18" – are generally illegal in the U.S. for civilians; military and police both may use SBSs. But a shotgun is legally defined as a shoulder-mounted firearm that fires shot. Shotguns that have never had a buttstock of any type installed, are not defined as shotguns, as they cannot be shoulder mounted. If the barrel is rifled, it is considered a Destructive Device (DD) and would not be legal._

_Thus, it is entirely possible to legally own a 12 ga. smoothbore handgun (or extremely short barreled shotgun) in the U.S., but probably not very many other places. On the other hand, there can't be very many people who would want to shoot such a thing._


	9. Chapter 9

_The Shield _and_ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

in a crossover FanFiction

**Antwon's Fangs**

by

Lancer47

aka LancerFourSeven

& aka STFarnham

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

George Johnson, Jr. came to again. He looked around warily, exchanging glances with his awake, but equally frightened, chained up friends. None of them said a word. He could hear loud arguing coming from the next room, but he couldn't see a thing. BLAM, BLAM, pause, BLAM, BLAM; two pairs of gunshots, followed by a loud anguished 'noooooo' struck his ears. His ears rang, damn that was loud. _What the hell was going on out there?_ He hoped it wasn't going to make anything worse for him. For a change he didn't pass out again, he supposed he was getting used to his poor circs. He looked around, shuddered, looked up, and was startled to notice that his right handcuff was hooked around a small brace, a brace that seemed a bit loose. He experimented with his right hand, wiggling the brace. And sure enough, it wobbled at one end. He started working on the bolt, it was stiff, but it turned. Each quarter-turn of the screw cost him a bit of skin, but he was past worrying about things like that.

After half an hour of silence, he heard voices coming down the hall. He pulled his hand away from the brace and pretended to pass out. It wasn't a difficult pretense. The female vampire came in with a young man, a young man who was in the throes of thinking he was about to get laid. She led him on, George watching through slitted eyelids, until, abruptly, the girl growled ferociously, grew fangs, whipped her head around and bit the young man's throat. George panicked, watching the monster drain the blood from this poor guy. But then, after a minute or two, she held him tenderly, then forced him to bite _her_, and drink some of _her_ blood. He was both confused and horrified, as were the rest of the victims chained to the rack, the conscious ones, anyway.

After a few minutes the vampire laid the man gently on the ground, covered him with a blanket, and swept out without so much as a glance at any of the prisoners. It was all too much, given his starved, beaten, and dehydrated state, he passed out again.

* * *

Willow was holding her book upside down and she hadn't noticed in the thirty minutes since she picked it up. Every once in a while she looked up and took in the beeping machines above Kenn's bed, checking the readouts. She had, of course, educated herself in the meaning of all those digits and lights, and was now skilled in running her eyes over all the monitors and immediately noting if any one was out of the preferred range. Kenn was doing well, even though she was still unconscious, but at least all her vital signs were trending up. Her doctors were optimistic, and so was Willow.

It was seven in the morning, and her stomach started to growl. Not too surprising since she hadn't had more than a few snacks from a vending machine and water in the last two days. She supposed she'd better go get some real food.

So, having made the decision, she sat watching Kenn for another twenty minutes. Finally, internal pressure forced her to move. Once she actually stood up, everything seemed to happen at once. She headed for the bathroom, then grabbed some clean clothes out the bag Buffy had left for her and changed. Then she walked down to the cafeteria and wondered briefly why even hospital cafeterias pushed such unhealthy food. She mentally shrugged and asked for scrambled eggs and sausage, as well as an orange. When she finished her eggs, she drank four cups of coffee without actually understanding anything she read in today's paper.

Finally, she walked outside to see what fresh air smelled like. It wasn't fresh air, it was somewhat polluted air, oh well. As she stood by a side entrance, she noticed two men approaching. Wait, why did they have guns pointed at her? She intoned quietly, "_Thicken_", and the air in front of her became highly viscous, even though it was still invisible.

One of the gunmen said, "Don't move, bitch." She was about to wrap them in magical vines and set about getting information out of them, but she noticed one of the hospital security guards strolling along the sidewalk behind the men. So she raised her hands in the universal gesture of surrender, a highly visible signal that something was wrong. And sure enough, the guard noticed, and took a closer look at the two men approaching her.

One of them, the taller of the two, said, "Put your hands down you dumb bitch! You'll have plenty of time later to put them up."

Willow ignored him.

The security guard, after calling for backup with his radio, pulled his gun and shouted, "You two! Hold it where you are! Drop your weapons! Get down! Down! Down!"

They swiveled rapidly and started to bring their weapons to bear. Willow said, "_Entangle_," and waved her hands this way and that, and one of the gunmen tripped on a shoelace that had come loose and wrapped around the lace on his other shoe, knocking into the other gunman in the process. Both of them noticed another security guard arriving, and two more behind them. They sighed together and dropped their guns, giving up.

Willow stamped her foot in frustration, she really wanted to question those men. She thought, _Just a little skinning would have done the trick, not too much, not like Jonathon, just a few little strips and they would've sung like canaries. Crap! Who am I kidding? I'm still a horrible human being. Sigh._

She sighed softly and went back inside and let the authorities handle it. Although she was beginning to seriously wonder just what had Kenn got herself into, and worse, how far down could she get dragged.

* * *

Vic and Lem walked up to the stash house on Tidwell. Vic pounded on the door and yelled, "POLICE! OPEN UP!"

Someone spoke to them on the phone system. "Do you have a warrant?"

"Yeah, a 9mm warrant. Open up or we open up."

"But, but, that's illegal!"

"Gee Lem, these drug dealers are lecturing us on what's legal! Whattya think about that?"

"Well Vic, I figure it's a good thing we brought all this extra ammo to cut through the fine print."

Jules shouted through the thick door, "All right, what the FUCK do you want?"

"Just to talk, that's all."

Jules reluctantly opened up, Vic shoved his way in. Vic said, "You hear that, Lem, the sound of toilets. I think these idiots just flushed their stash."

Jules frowned.

Vic smiled broadly and said, "We don't care about your stash, keep it, sell it, shove it up your asses for all we care. We also don't care about your money, not much anyway. Just tell us about the young woman who visited here the other day, the one someone shot outside your door." He looked into the eyes of the four men in the room. "It wasn't one of you gentlemen, was it? If so, you'd best turn yourself in to me, right now."

"Naw man, it warn't any of us."

"So the girl, Kennedy, what did she want with you?"

Jules exchanged glances with the others. Finally, he said, "That fuckin' cunt robbed us!"

Vic and Lem started laughing. "Right, a hundred and twenty pound, five foot three inch cheerleader robbed you guys, all four of you? What'd she use, a squad of marines?" Vic couldn't stop laughing.

"Uh uh, she used a sword an' that fuckers sharp!"

"A sword! Get this Lem, these guys got AK-47s, M-16s, Uzis, Glocks, 12 gauge shotguns, Tec 9s, maybe we could find a MAC-10 in the closet, and they're all tits-up screaming: _'Oh, oh oh! A sword, whatever shall we do?'_ " Vic's use of a falsetto voice thoroughly irritated Jules.

"Yeah fucker, this here sword right here!" said Jules, pulling Kennedy's _katana_ out from the closet and slammed it down on a table.

Vic was surprised. He picked it up and studied it. "This is a very fine sword. It's really her's?"

"Yeah."

"You shot her and took it from her?"

"What? No! I don't know who shot her, it wasn't me. She jus' dropped the sword, I picked it up so it don't get rusty, or stolen."

Vic nodded his head knowingly. "Yeah, I can see that, when people carelessly leave their things lying around, 'cuz they're lying on the ground bleeding out, it's important to take care of their property first."

"Look Mackey, since this visit of yours is so unofficial, I'll tell you. She was hell on wheels with that thing, and fast, really, really fast. She wanted twenty per cent of the take, said it was our fee for selling here. This was the third time she robbed us."

Vic looked thoughtful. He turned to Lem. "These folks are serious, aren't they?"

"I don't understand why they didn't shoot her the first time," asked Lem.

"Yeah," said Vic, turning back to face Jules, "why didn'tcha shoot her?"

" 'Cuz the muscle was down for the count."

Vic thought about that, and thought about how fast Kenn took him down, even when he was ready for her. He hadn't thought she had much real-world experience, hadn't thought she'd fought anyone outside the dojo, _but_, he admitted to himself, _he __could be wrong._

"Okay, I'll take this sword, and you go on about your business. But if I was you, I'd keep putting aside your 'fee'; I might just collect it myself, you know, for the Policeman's Ball, or you might need it to stay out of prison."

"By the way," said Lem, "how did Antwon take it when you told him you'd been robbed?"

"He was piss... Wait, Antwon who? I don't know no Antwon."

"Riiiiight," laughed Vic. "We're outta here."

Jules shook his head angrily as showed them out the door.

* * *

"Hey Willow," said Faith, coming into the waiting room at the hospital. "You're looking better today, more human-like."

"Thanks, I think. I just had a shower and breakfast, amazing what a difference that makes."

"So Kenn's doing better?"

"Yep, that's what all those machines say, anyway. The doctors think she'll wake up soon, probably today, tomorrow at the latest. Any luck on the investigation?"

"A little, maybe. But right now the whole police department is concentrated on finding two cop killers, everything else is in the back seat. So I'm at loose ends for a few days, unless I want to help the cops beat up suspects."

"Oh yeah, I saw that on the news, along with that police captain trying to justify her taking old folk's houses in the name of stopping crime." Willow paused. "Hey, you know, this morning two bad guys were detained by the hospital security staff, you might go see what that was about."

"How do you know they were 'bad' guys?"

"They pointed guns at me."

"That would do it. Did they say why?"

"No, I was about to wrap them up myself, and maybe ask a few questions in my own, uh, emphatic manner. But then the security guys showed up and cuffed them, and, well, maybe that was all to the good."

"I see. Okay, I'll check it out."

* * *

Later, in the evening, Vic Mackey knocked on the door frame of Kennedy's room. "Hi, can I come in? If you're up for a visit, that is."

Kenn raised her hand and waved him in. "Sure," she whispered, have a seat." She nodded towards Willow, asleep in the chair on the other side, and said, "Just speak softly."

But Willow stirred. "Too late, I'm already awake."

Vic said, "I'd like to talk to Kennedy, if I may."

Willow said, "Those other detectives have already been here, Wyms and Wagenbach."

"I'm here more for background. They're the two detectives assigned to your case, but I'm the one in charge of the task force charged with reducing gang activity in Farmington. So I'll probably have different questions."

"I don't mind," said Kenn.

"Well, okay, if it's okay with you." Willow stroked Kenn's shoulder and arm, then sat down.

Vic frowned at Willow. "Maybe this should be private? Just Ms Kennedy and me?"

"No," said Kennedy with as much force as she could muster, "Willow stays!"

"So I was thinking about the martial arts demonstration you gave me the other night. I was very impressed with your skills..."

Kennedy interrupted, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, but you just wanted to rub in the fact that I couldn't defeat a gun. But I already knew that."

"No, that's not what I was gonna say, I know very well that anyone can fall to a gunshot pretty much anytime, anywhere. We can be observant, and try to prepare, but if a bullet has your name on it, then that's gonna be that – we can only play the odds. No, I was interested in your fighting skills. You said you started practicing when you were five years old. Is that something that your family did as a matter of course?"

"No, I'm the only one in my family that was into it. You see, I had a great teacher, a _sensei_, who came along right about then."

"So why did your parents push you into it?"

"They didn't, I had to argue for it, but when daddy finally saw that I was as stubborn as a five-year old can get and wasn't going to back down, he went ahead and set up a _dojo_ on the grounds for me, even gave my _sensei_ a place to stay. After that, I practiced four to six hours a day, every day, minimum, for years. Actually, I'm feeling out of sorts right now because of this enforced idleness."

"You've only came out of your coma this afternoon, according to the doc."

"Yeah, I know, but my muscles are feeling all flabby – I seriously wantta get some exercise."

"Okay." Vic paused for a moment, then said, "So I guess your family had money?"

"Oh yeah, that's pretty much an understatement."

"So how come you went in for the martial arts, and not, say, advanced shopping, or polo, or yacht racing?"

Kennedy glared at him, she was going to answer with plenty of snark and cursing, but thought better of it and pushed it down until she could calmly reply, "Luck of the draw, I guess. My older sister, for instance, never had the slightest interest in joining me in the _dojo_. Today she's married to an indolent and equally wealthy husband, and they spend their lives doing, well, not much of anything that I can see. Still, I don't hold it against them, they seem happy. They both have absurdly large trust funds, they live in a mansion, actually three mansions in different parts of the country, and spend a lot of time with various charities, when they're not collecting expensive wine and even more expensive art. I don't suppose they're completely useless, and yet, I couldn't live like that."

"So your sister got all the family money?"

"Not even close, my trust fund is equal to hers, but by far the majority of the family money is in the family businesses, banking and reinsurance, all overseen by daddy and a building full of experts."

"So are you and Willow planning to run through your trust fund?"

Kenn laughed. "Of course not, there's too much money in the trust to even be _able_ to run out, unless I started buying bankrupt third-world countries or something equally stupid. Which I haven't, but if I did, daddy would just give me another brokerage account or something."

"I see." Vic nodded thoughtfully. "So I had a heart-to-heart talk with Jules..."

Kennedy suddenly turned paper white as the blood rushed from her face. _Oh shit!_ was written clearly in her expression.

"...and Jules claims that you, um, robbed him. Three times. Using a sword. Why would you do that, since you don't need the money."

"No, no! I didn't _rob_ them, I just collected a fee!"

Willow stood up and said, "I gotta go." She practically ran out the door with Kennedy reaching for her and ineffectively begging for her to stay so she could explain.

"Please!" implored Kennedy to Vic, "go stop her! Get her back here! Please?"

Vic looked over his shoulder, watching Willow flee down the hall. He turned back and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Your friend needs some time to herself."

"But, but, she doesn't know the whole story yet!" Kenn started to grab at the various things attached to her so she could run after Will.

"Well, I'm here, you can tell me." Vic leaned forward to stop Kennedy from disconnecting her monitors. It was a surprising struggle until someone said,

"And me," said a voice from the door. Vic turned suddenly and was majorly irritated to discover Special Agent Lehane leaning casually against the door frame. A nosy Fed hanging around would make skimming off some of the money floating around this case twice as hard.

"How long you been out there?" Vic demanded.

"Since you introduced yourself to Kenn. And yes, I heard your whole conversation."

"Look, I'm not here officially, I didn't read her her rights and I have no intention of doing so..."

"Hey, that's okay with me. I'm her friend – sort of – I'm not looking to make a case against Kenn because it's not in my jurisdiction. Although I am a little curious why you aren't interested. Are you in the habit of picking and choosing which laws you enforce, detective?"

Faith invited herself in, shut the door behind her, and sat down in Willows chair. Kennedy, looking extremely guilty and extremely upset, kept swinging her head back and forth between Vic and Faith, unable to decide who to concentrate on.

"So Kenn," said Faith, "did the doctors tell when your nose will be healed? I was just curious how long you're gonna look like a raccoon, what with your black eyes and all. Or do you think it's a fetching new look?"

Kennedy stopped swiveling and glared at Faith.

"Is that some new interrogation technique?" asked Vic, "antagonize your interviewee so they shut up and don't waste any of your time answering questions?"

"First of all," said Faith, "I've never been able to stop Kenn from running her mouth. Second, even if she wants to keep quiet, she'll talk to me." She looked directly at Kenn. "Won't you?" The two held a brief staring contest, Kenn turned away first. Faith looked up at Vic. "However, I think maybe you should wait outside, at least until her lawyer arrives."

"Hey, hey! I already told you, and her, I'm not assigned to this case, I'm just looking for gang-related background material, that's all."

"And you're really not gonna go running off to your detective buddies and mention to them that you think they should, I dunno, at least _look_ at Kennedy and Jules?"

"Well, not in so many words..." Vic could see his off-the-books payday gurgling down the tubes, this Lehane chick was clearly a hard-ass. Maybe he'd better try to get along with her, and forget about extra cash, after all, he still had two kilos of black tar heroin in a semi-safe location. He could wait as long as it took for the heat to die down before cashing it in. "No, I won't say anything as long you don't admit to murder or something."

"So Kenn, what the fuck did you think you were doing?" asked Faith.

"I was just redistributing money, that's all."

"Take from the rich and give to the poor? That kind of redistribution?" asked Vic.

Kenn, outraged, said, "What?! No, I wasn't stealing from the rich – I would _never_ do that – I was charging a fee to criminals, a different thing entirely!"

"And did what with it?"

"Oh, I stuffed most of it in a various church collection boxes, as well as a few other good causes that take anonymous cash."

Vic and Faith looked at each other and exchanged wry looks.

"Why? I mean, if you're that concerned about the downtrodden, why get your hands dirty, why not use some of your trust fund?" asked Faith.

"Oh. I do that too, but in a way that results in tax relief and other things – my accountants take care of most of that stuff, although I do consult with my sister from time to time to make sure I'm giving to charities that won't waste the money. No, this was more personal. Since arriving here in Farmington, it seemed like such a – I don't know, like a third-world country stuck in the middle of LA. I just wanted to do something, ya know?"

"No, I don't know, this is not normal behavior for you," said Faith. "Are you trying to tell me that your stuck-up rich bitch act is, um, just an act? That you're really a softhearted do-gooder who just wants to spread nutritious food and good cheer to the poor and unwashed? If so, you're gonna have to try harder, cause I'm having a hard time believing it."

"No, it's personal, like I said."

"So do I have shake you to get you to spill? Doesn't Willow need to hear this?"

"Yes."

"But first tell us."

"Oh all right. Detective, did you by any chance see a report about a Dr. Johnson, George Johnson, from a few weeks ago?"

"No, can't say that I did. Should I have?"

"No reason, but see, Dr. Johnson is a friend of the family. He used to be my dad's doc, but more importantly, he was a close friend. He often had dinner with us, and I, well, I liked them, father and son. Friends, you understand."

"Yes, I get it."

"Anyway, Dr. Johnson had this idea for robotic surgery, and daddy thought it was a good idea so he backed the doc, started up a new company, you know, with venture capital. And they succeeded, got in on the ground floor for new surgical techniques some years ago. So eventually, Johnson moved his company out here – I don't know the details, something to do with business and the medical center here and all that – anyway, to cut a long story short – Dr. Johnson's son, he's about my age actually, when we were little we were playmates. Since moving to LaLa Land, George Jr managed to get himself all fucked up on drugs. The good doc finally had enough and threw him out of the house, disowned him actually. My dad talked to him and he got all this out of him. The doc didn't want to talk about it, but daddy can be persuasive. Daddy told me about it, and I decided to do something. I don't have many friends, I look out for the few I have, so I've been looking for George Jr., but so far I haven't found him or even any rumor of him, so I decided to fuck with the drug dealers, sort of a hobby."

Vic nodded his head. "Okay, that don't sound terrible. Still against the law, you understand, but I don't care enough to follow it up."

"Don't look at me like that, Faith, I didn't turn vigilante and start killing druggies, I just forced them to give to charities."

"Hmmph. So why didn't you bring Willow in on it in the first place?"

"I didn't think she would approve."

"Really? Why not?"

"Well, technically it's armed robbery after all. I just had a really really good reason."

"Okay, I'll go find Willow and try to convince her to listen."

Vic stood up, but as he turned to go he asked in a deceptively quiest voice, "And what happened to Peas and 8-Ball out in the fields west of Farmington?"

Kennedy said, "I want my lawyer now."

TBC


End file.
